cookiebelle

[cookiebelle]

I had a fever dream about Shayna Baszler fucking me in the bathroom at a party so uh fic incoming?

[cookiebelle]

🥺🥺🥺 This is so kind!!! Thank you so much!! I’m so glad you enjoyed.

Me Fui de Vacaciones • Damian Priest x AFAB reader

Warnings • 2nd person pov (no use of y/n), reader is Afab but I did my best to be as inclusive and nondescript as possible

Smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected PIV sex, oral (m receiving), names (Gatita, baby, you get it), some extremely light kink (spanking, biting, choking, hair pulling), lil bit of Sir kink, size kink sort of, exactly two uses of the word “whore”, porn with an unnecessary amount of plot, tropes galore, idiots to lovers requires its own warning, bad Spanish translations probably.

Word Count • 6.2k words, I have no reasonable explanation for this.

A/N • This should go without saying, but I’m gonna say it anyway. This is a wrestling fic, featuring wrestlers. While wrestlers are indeed real people with real lives, they are also playing characters. The people mentioned in this fic are their characters, and in no way am I depicting the individuals who portray them.

Burning logs crackled. One. Two. Three beers became five. Your feet dug into soft, cool sand as you and your closest friends talked around a fire.

It was the beginning of a well deserved mini-vacation, and the five of you weren’t intending to waste a moment of it. So when you all arrived at the little beach cottage you had rented, even at nearly midnight, you were hell bent on getting the most of your time off. So the fire was built, drinks were passed around, and laughter carried across the beach.

Most people called your friends “The Judgment Day”. You just called them family, though. You had met Damian first, in 2020, the near end of his NXT career marking your beginning. He quickly became your mentor as you navigated the tribulations of what it meant to work for the company, a true friend among those who looked at you only as competition. Later, he introduced you to Rhea. Then the faction formed, and Finn joined the circle, then Dom. Your call up to the main roster occurred shortly after, during the draft. The celebration that ensued when you learned you would be working with the rest of the crew was legendary. These, truly, were your people.

And then there you were, a year later, feet in the sand. You played a light tune on your guitar as though it were the backing score to Bálor’s story, leaving the group captivated. Well, everyone but you. You were looking up at the stars, taking it all in, wondering how you could possibly be so lucky. You decided not to tempt fate by asking the universe that very question, but it seemed fate had its own ideas for this week.

“You good?”

Rhea’s voice pulled you from your daydream and all at once, everyone was looking at you. You realized, in your deep state of thought, your random plucking at the guitar had faded to nothing.

“So good…” you grinned, slurring slightly, at which the group chuckled and carried on with their conversations. Crisis averted. At least you thought. Damian’s gaze lingered on you when you looked back down at the frets of your guitar, but you didn’t seem to notice.

It was a drunken stumble back to the house, sometime around 3AM, everyone finally exhausted enough to end the day and refresh themselves for the next. Except you. As they all said their goodnights and retired to their respective rooms, you found yourself on the couch, unable to sleep and watching reruns of the same sitcoms you had seen a hundred times.

—————

“Hey… Hey you…”

You felt something… poking you?

“Hellooooo…”

You gasped and sat up, eyes wildly searching the room until you found Rhea standing above you. It was light outside, light enough that golden rays peeked through the curtains and illuminated her face. You glanced at the clock. 7am. Hadn’t you guys just gone to bed?

“We’re going to the gym. You coming?”

“I thought we were on vacation,” You groaned and laid back down, covering your face with a throw pillow as you realized how sore your back was. Why the hell did you sleep on the couch all night?

“Suit yourself. We’ll back in a couple hours.”

You rolled over, scrunched up but content as the footsteps left the house, got in the car, and drove away. Slowly, you dozed back off into that euphoric state of half sleep.

“Hey…”

Oh fuck. Damian. Your heart picked up and suddenly you were awake once more. You thought you had heard all of them leave, and yet…

“Hey, you awake?”

You remained rigidly still save for your breathing, even as you heard him approach. For whatever reason, pretending to still be asleep was your first and only instinct. It did you little good, however.

In one sudden motion, as if you weighed nothing at all, you were scooped up into his arms. Still, you pretended to sleep. Despite your heart racing. Despite how badly you wanted to lean into the safety and warmth of his chest. Despite the fire that sparked in your core every time you got close to him.

Yeah, you were down bad. The moment he got in the ring to spar with you that first time, you were a goner, and it only got worse as years went on. You had spent holidays together, traveled to countless cities and countries, bared your soul to him over late night gin and cigarettes. You saw him for what he was. When others saw a monster of a man, a Broken Angel as he was once called, you saw someone sensitive, fierce, and loyal. Even the flaws drew you closer, but you could focus on those another time.

You kept the feelings under the hat as best you could. The only time you let it slip was to Rhea, early on in your friendship, your eyes lingering too long on Damian as he walked away from the two of you. She promised to take the secret to her grave. That didn’t stop her from teasing you in private, though, or from dropping the subtlest of hints when you were all together. Hints Damian never seemed to get, or maybe he did. Who really knows?

Back in the present, he was carrying you… somewhere, that much you could glean with your eyes closed. And then you were placed somewhere soft. Already warm and slept in, like the comfiest hug. Wait… was this his bed? You breathed deeply and realized it was, regrettably, recognizing the scent of his hair left behind on the pillow.

He covered you with a blanket, pushing away some hair that had fallen in your face. It was a surprisingly tender gesture from someone like him, especially for “just a friend”, but that was something you had gotten used to. It was one of the many facets of who he was, showing his love with touch. He was always there for you with a hug when you needed it, or a rub to your shoulders after a good match, and he seemed to mess with your hair a lot, too. You thought nothing of it. That was just.. him.

You decided, as his hand drew away from your face, that now was as good a time as any to begin to stir. You slowly blinked your eyes open and looked up as he was still standing beside you, just turning to leave.

“Mmmm hello…” you mumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up… you just looked uncomfortable and I was getting up anyway so I figured…” He seemed almost nervous, immediately pulling his hands away from you.

“No, it’s fine,” you cut him off, stretching for the first time in what felt like days, “thank you..”

“Okay, well.. you sleep. I’m gonna make breakfast..” he turned back to leave and you quickly grabbed onto his hand, tugging it backward.

“Too early for breakfast. It’s your bed. Come lay down…” your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard every word.

It wasn’t as though you two hadn’t shared plenty of beds. Traveling on tour was like that. With Dom and Rhea paired off, and Finn preferring to be alone, you two often ended up in a room together, and thanks to Damian’s stature that meant sharing a single king bed. Of course, you didn’t mind. Not even as you laid awake all those nights, trying to quell that burning need you couldn’t seem to shake when you were so close yet so far from him. You wondered how he could sleep, how he couldn’t feel your nervous energy from across the bed. Maybe he could, and just paid it no mind.

This time was different, though. Charged. Like the energy you felt shooting through the fingertips that touched him was somehow a mutual exchange. Like if you pulled your hand from his right now, you would see the electricity connecting them. You couldn’t explain how or why, all you could do was tug on his hand as he tried to decline your invitation.

“There’s no way you’re not tired, come on…”

And, after a moment of your insistence, he reluctantly obliged.

There was a dip in the bed, and you hummed happily as a strong arm wrapped around you, hugging you close for a moment as he got situated. You rolled onto your side, facing away from him so you could hide your secret little smile. Strong arms wrapped around you again, to your surprise, and you shifted until you both were comfortable laying there in each other’s space.

You two always ended up like this, once you finally found yourself able to sleep. You would wake curled up against his massive frame, him holding you in a manner that could only be described as possessive. It was almost as though he was protecting you in your slumber; From what, you weren’t sure. Bad dreams? Aliens? You always played it off as though you two just enjoyed the closeness, drawn to each other in the unconscious. You’d vehemently defend to Rhea that it was strictly platonic. The butterflies in your throat disagreed.

It felt like every single cell in your body was vibrating. You thought there was no way that you could sleep, and yet you felt your eyelids droop as his warmth spread around you. Once again, you dozed, your body weightless despite being hyper aware of the fact that you were pressed up against him. His shallow, sleepy breaths puffed across the top of your head, but you would later learn he was also not sleeping.

No, he was in the same predicament as you. Pretending to sleep while his mind raced and the smell of your hair drew him further into this downward spiral. It was all innocent thoughts at first. Friendly. Looking forward to spending time with you and the others over the next few days. Then he opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of your peaceful, sleeping face and a switch flipped. Suddenly he was consumed by the thought of waking you up and taking you then and there, finally giving into the urge he felt every time he got close to you. Every time he watched you wrestle. Every time you smiled at him from across a room, or fell asleep on him during long flights, or gave his butt a pat as he walked out from Gorilla to the ramp. He valued your friendship more than that urge, though, and it’s stopped him every time he’s nearly gone through with indulging it.

Lost in your thoughts, you only barely registered the fact that he had scooted a little bit closer to you than before, hips flush with the curve of your ass. Something else pressed against you, something somewhat firm and insistent. You blushed, trying to muffle the faintest gasp at the realization of exactly what it was. He had to be sleeping… right? Would he do this if he wasn’t?

You didn’t know what to do, frozen still by the options before you. You could ignore it, pretend to keep sleeping and act as though nothing was happening. That was the safest option. You two could proceed as usual, protecting your friendship for the long run while you pined for him still. Or… you could give in and acknowledge it, say fuck it to all of the doubt and uncertainty.

Fuck it.

You moved to back yourself up further against him, making sure to slowly grind your hips and drag your ass against the clothed protrusion. You heard a low, barely audible noise from him, spurring you on as you arched your back slightly and once again pressed your ass into him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing…” he whispered under his breath, not wanting to wake you if this was all just some kind of cruel joke the universe was playing on him. His hand went from holding you across your waist to slowly tracing a line down your side, stopping at your hip and squeezing gently. You hummed again, softly, leaning into his touch.

It burned where his fingertips made contact with your skin, feeling that same electric energy as before, stealing the breath from your lungs. It was now or never, you decided, no going back from here. A calculated risk, but you were always so bad at math. Slowly, you reached back, grabbing hold of his hip and using the new leverage to really grind against him. You heard a low rumbling, like thunder in his chest, fingers digging into your hip.

“Don’t tease me…” another barely audible growl of a whisper. You chuckled softly, putting on an air of confidence in spite of your hammering heart, moving just enough in his hold to turn your head and look innocently at him. God, he loved that look. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking you over with a glint in his eye you’d never seen before, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Who’s teasing?” You offered a smile over your shoulder.

“I mean it…” he brought you closer to him, his lips finding your bare shoulder. He placed a kiss on it, then bit down softly, eliciting the tiniest gasp from you. Another kiss, another bite, another low, sleepy whine from you as your hips begged for more friction. His hand on your hip pulled you back as he rocked slowly into you. God, why did he have to make this so good? It was bad enough that you were past some kind of point of no return, but every press of his hips to your behind only made it worse, forcing tiny moans out of you. Officially helpless to the way your body was reacting to his touch, you didn’t bother resisting it any longer. Your hand on his hip reached between the two of you, teasing along the waistband of his boxers before reaching in. Your hand slid tentatively down his pelvis, running over smooth, hot skin before finally wrapping around what you were looking for.

It was damn near as intimidating as he was. Long and thick and heavy, twitching slightly in your grasp as he grew harder. You couldn’t help but utter a quiet “Fuck”. His chest rumbled as you stroked him a few times, and you couldn’t help but groan with him, the slick heat of your core only growing more overwhelming with each glide of your palm. You felt lips on your neck now, doing the same as before. A kiss, a bite, then another soothing kiss as you mewled at the sensation, your walls clenching around nothing, absolutely begging for him. You’d be lucky if you made it out of this without him marking you, but would that really be lucky? You kept on with soft, slow strokes, breathless as he continued to focus on your neck.

“Are you sure we should do this…” he breathed in your ear, your movements slowing as you processed his question. He was giving you one last out, it seemed. One last opportunity to say “you’re right, let’s stop”, though you both knew you had already gone too far to come back from this. But, with no hesitation, you nodded.

It all happened so fast after that. In half a second you were flat on your back, eyes wide as you tried to choke out something clever or witty to say, completely failing. He wasn’t touching you yet, but nonetheless you were pinned, his massive frame caging yours entirely. Your eyes cut down to discover he’d slid his boxers off, hard cock hanging between his legs. Fuck, it looked even better than it felt. Your gaze wandered back up to his confident smirk. He knew what he was working with, clearly. Smug bastard.

“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice…” you couldn’t help but laugh, doing everything you could to look normal, ignoring the steady beating in your ears.

“Just couldn’t help but notice you admiring something…” he chuckled, then leaned back down to kiss your neck, and suddenly your mind was mush again except for him.

You were ripped from your thoughts as you found your top being pulled off and your breasts exposed, his mouth immediately attaching to one. He was all teeth and tongue, frantic and desperate, years of tension finally breaking the dam and rushing through his veins. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, writhing and gasping as he played you so expertly, somehow finding every little sensitive spot and knowing exactly how to wring the most pathetic little sounds from your throat. Had your nipples always been this sensitive? You couldn’t remember. In fact, this all felt so new, like it was your first time all over again. His intense focus turned up to you as he switched to your other breast, the eye contact enough to ruin you both. You broke it, certain you would come in an instant if you held his dark eyes any longer.

Damian let go of your nipple with a tug of his teeth, leaning up to finally kiss your lips, both hands holding your face. White heat burst behind your eyes as his tongue immediately assumed dominance over yours. You wrapped your arms around broad shoulders, moaning shamelessly into his mouth as tongues danced and one of his hands moved to firmly hold your jaw. He only broke the kiss to speak, lips just centimeters from yours.

“Pretty little thing… me estás matando…”

Your loss for words left you grinning stupidly in response. You, killing him? While you’ve lost all sense of chill, not even bothering to pretend to be casual about this? He kissed the smile off your face, biting and tugging on your bottom lip as he pulled away, leaving your lips to chase his as you whined with need. It was strange, the fact that you needed him. You’d had plenty of partners, plenty of good sex. Sure, you wanted them, but this felt like you’d surely die if you didn’t feel him inside you soon. Like your body would simply vaporize without his touch. Maybe this was how it was going to be from now on, feeling like something was distinctly missing when he wasn’t touching you.

Your flimsy cotton shorts were the next to go, his lips finding every inch of exposed skin down your abdomen and claiming it as his own. Eager hands glided down his shoulders and back, taking in the way each muscle flexed as he moved along your body.

His energy was impossible to place, manic but calm. He knew exactly what he was doing, but still moved with an urgency as if the two of you would be caught any moment. Which… was partially true. In a moment of clarity, the rest of the crew came to mind and your heart picked up at the realization that they would be back soon, and this would be over. Or worse.. they could find you two, passionately entangled. What would they say? What would HE say? You feared he would deny it, too ashamed to admit he felt anything for you, even just lust.

Your thoughts continued to race, eyes closing as you panicked. You tried to be discreet about it, but if anyone knew your cues, it was Damian. He moved back up to you, a strong yet delicate hand wrapping around your throat as he kissed you. Well, that was one way to knock out the intrusive thoughts.

“Look at me,” he squeezed ever so slightly as your eyes focused, his tone stern yet soft, “whatever you’re thinking about. Doesn’t matter right now. Tell me what does.” Another squeeze.

“You.”

“And what else…”

“… me?”

“Good girl.”

Another kiss, another squeeze, and he was gone. Back to leaving bite marks down your body. He came down to your panties and let out a silent, somewhat shaky breath. Finally. Finally he had you right where he always wanted you. It was almost overwhelming, but he didn’t let onto that. His fingers gently traced over black cotton, finding a damp spot along the seam of your cunt.

“Oh gatita,” he kept focus along that spot, shooting sparks through your entire body with how inexplicably sensitive you were, “is this all for me?”

All you could do was whimper in response, letting your head fall back to the pillow as your hips chased his fingers, begging for more. He granted you that extra friction, mouth falling open as he watched you shamelessly grind against his hand.

And then he pulled away, leaving you whining from the loss. In a blink, your panties were tossed to the floor and finally the two of you could take in the sight of one another. It took all of the self control he had not to split you open on his cock right there, but he resisted, instead kneeling between your open legs.

You looked up at him, breathing out a barely audible “please”. You nearly took him out right there, his composure faltering as he fully looked you over.

“Perfect,” he exhaled, readjusting his position and giving his straining cock a few lazy strokes, making sure you were watching. Oh, you were watching, nearly drooling at the sight.

His hand found your pussy again, gently swirling a thumb around your clit, eyes locked with yours and hand still slowly working his cock. He wanted to see every reaction, every little microexpression, he wanted it all. He had waited this long for you, years of picturing you in this exact moment. He wanted to savor everything.

You moaned through your bitten lip as he teased, not daring to look away from him. He had you captive, it seemed, frozen in place and begging for anything he could give you. Which is why you whined so pathetically when he pulled his hand away, once again.

He sucked your essence from his thumb, savoring your sweetness. You hummed at the sight, closing your eyes, only to feel his grip on your jaw a moment later to tilt your head up toward him.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice deeper, more serious. You didn’t dare disobey him, looking up like a deer in headlights. Something about that voice… you couldn’t quite place it. He growled lowly, bringing his hand back down to your cunt. He collected some of your juices on his finger, running it up and down your slick folds before slowly, agonizingly sliding it inside.

He still gripped your chin, daring you to look away as you whimpered at the sudden fullness. You had always admired his hands, giant and strong and rough, yet gentle. You’d wondered how they would feel in this exact scenario, often finding your mind wandering as your own smaller hand worked to your release in the late nights. It was beyond what you had imagined, so much more. His finger found a slow, steady pace, filling you perfectly and yet not enough all at once. You moved your hips with his rhythm, mouth slack in euphoria, eyes still trained to his.

“So fucking good for me, look how well you’re taking it,” he praised, letting go of your jaw to let you look down at where his finger was disappearing into your tight hole. Then, as you watched, he added another finger, wrenching a moan straight from your chest as your head fell back once more. Now the pace picked up, the thrusts of his hand stronger, more precise as he curled his fingers to find that sensitive little spot. You gasped and panted pathetically as he played you so expertly, looking back down at his hand only to fall back onto the pillow, overwhelmed by the sight.

It’s unfair, how he seemed to know you without knowing you. Without much effort at all from him, you found yourself closing in on climax, your panting gradually becoming uninhibited moans of “Please. Please. Please.”

“Please what, gatita?” He cooed, slowing the pace ever so slightly as he leaned over you.

“Please. Just. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Just don’t stop.”

“Oh, don’t stop?” He slowed just a bit more, grinning down at you. You could only whine in response, hips moving sloppily now, trying to encourage him to fuck you faster. Harder. He obliged… for the moment. Your walls slowly grew tighter, your moans more heady and uncontrolled. You felt the coil tighten. Tighten. Tighten…

And then he slowed again. Painfully. Your orgasm held at bay, he couldn’t have appeared more smug, knowing exactly what he was doing. You looked up at him, flushed and desperate.

“Why’d you do that?” A whine, to which his response was simply to kiss you. Again, he picked up the pace, adding another finger, making sure you felt just how much he stretched you. Oh, you felt it. Your vision went blurry at the sensation, focusing on him and only him.

It didn’t take much to bring you to that edge again, the coil tightening even more, threatening to break with every rough pump of his fingers. He was hovering over you now, leaning down and biting on your shoulder, sucking a mark into it. Apparently, he didn’t think about the consequences of that… or maybe he didn’t care. Nevertheless, he bit again, smirking into your shoulder as you arched your back and rode his fingers, dramatically chasing your high. You were so, so close, every muscle in your body tense, hands scratching down his back.

“Come on, baby. Come for me.”

It hit like a brick to the face after that, overtaking you in every way as you moaned and gasped, holding onto him for dear life. He nuzzled his face into you, kissing and sucking marks down your chest to your abdomen, every press of his lips electric.

Everything felt blurry and yet razor sharp, every muscle in your body twitching in the aftershocks. You barely registered that he had kissed back up your body, hands on either side of your head as he waited above. His lips locked with yours the moment your eyes focused, your hands immediately twisting in his hair, holding him as close to you as you could.

You felt the weeping head of his cock prod at your folds, one of his hands guiding it to rub against your clit, still sensitive from your first orgasm. You mewled with anticipation, your hips grinding down against him.

“Patience…” he breathed against your lips, your hips stilling as he slowly slid inside. Just the head. A gasp from both of you. And then another inch. Fuck. And then another. And another. Until you felt all of him and all you could do was pull him in for another consuming kiss. He started with a slow pace, almost sweet, letting you get used to his size. It quickly grew intense, rough and fast, as he let himself fall into the demands of desire. Your hands grabbed at anything on him you could as he overwhelmed you with his force.

It really was unfair, the way he was fucking you. You didn’t stand a chance against him, not finding a single opportunity to gain the upper hand, left only to meet his thrusts with reckless abandon as you moaned with each moment he filled you. You liked it, though, being at his mercy. You trusted him, strangely. You could probably get used to this.

He’s stronger than you thought possible, his grip on your thighs surely bruising you as you writhed and arched your back at a particularly delicious sensation within you. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, completely lost in the rhythm and harshness of the snap of his hips. He bared his teeth as he fucked you harder. Faster. Tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the intensity. And then his hand was over your mouth, his eyes off you for the first time since this dance began. He was scanning outside the open window, watching a car come down the street, thinking it could be the rest of the group. That didn’t mean he stopped fucking you. In fact, it only got more intense.

“That’s right. Fucking take it.” he was back to looking down at you and your wide eyes, burying himself so deep inside you, you were sure he was ruining you entirely, “that’s it, baby. Tell me how good it feels.” Except he didn’t pull his hand from your mouth, smirking as you attempted to speak anyway, your mind too gone. That is.. until he slid himself fully inside, grinding his hips against yours. You moaned out loud, sure that the neighbors have heard you by now, your walls squeezing around him and feeling the drag as he pulled his cock out entirely.

“On your knees,” a simple order, and yet your brain was static. You blinked up at him before shaking away the fog and turning yourself over, wiggling your ass in his face just a little. His growl shook you, two strong hands grabbing hold of your ass and squeezing.

“Love this ass. Always loved this ass. Estuve soñando al respecto,” he kept squeezing, spreading you and groaning at the sight. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, giving it another shake in his face. Suddenly, you felt teeth on flesh, letting out a yelp that quickly became a satisfied sigh, your head dipping down past your shoulders. Somehow, you didn’t expect his hand to come crashing down on you, the slap against your ass ringing out in the empty house. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, too immersed in the moment to acknowledge anything but the way your back arched and your chest created the most depraved noise you’d ever heard.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Another slap, you gripped at the bedsheets to keep yourself grounded, “you like being treated like a whore?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered involuntarily, nearly slapping your own hand over your mouth at the realization of what you’d said.

“What.. did you just call me?”

“Nothing…”

A ruthless slap, “Tell me.”

You sobbed at the impact, “sir.”

The growl in his chest shook you, and with little warning his cock was pressing to your folds once again, sliding in with ease and setting a brutal pace right off the bat. You dropped to your elbows and arched your back, eyes closing as your head once again dropped. Of course, he took advantage and leaned over you, one hand finding the back of your head and pressing you down into the bed, holding it there. He slapped your ass with the other, laughing when you moaned into the mattress. It left the prettiest pink handprint, he almost wished he could get a picture of it.

You couldn’t believe the way he was fucking you. Like— like a whore, just like he said. You’d think he’d be gentle with you, being your first time together, that he’d want to show you how worthy he was of your pussy. In a way, he was showing you that. He was showing you his worth by fucking you absolutely stupid, and you were loving it. So much that you weren’t far from another climax, feeling your walls tighten around him, dragging such a beautiful sound from him. His hand found your hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling your head off the bed. You cried out, steadying yourself on your hands. It was overwhelming, every sensation he subjected you to, to the point that you felt completely delirious with pleasure, all sense of control lost. You fucked yourself sloppily back on his cock, his fist pulling tighter on your hair. The tears pricked your eyes again, eyes whiting out.

“Ohhh fuck, are you coming? You filthy little—” he didn’t finish, groaning as your cunt rhythmically clenched around him, his own thrusts growing more erratic. You didn’t even hear him praising you with little ‘good girls’ and whispers of how good you feel, your head clouded with the sounds of your own depravity. You rode out your orgasm for what felt like hours, nearly collapsing as your body ceased quaking.

Your brain was working in half time, barely registering that he was still fucking you slowly, trying to bring you back to reality. You tried to speak, but the words were completely incoherent.

“Need a minute,” you finally mumbled, reaching back and grabbing his hand that rested on your hip. He obliged, pulling out and laying down beside you, pulling you into his arms. Your breath caught gradually, your mental faculties growing stronger by the second despite your throbbing cunt. You sighed contentedly, leaning up and kissing him for just a moment. You had your own ideas, now, and one in particular overtook your thoughts.

You kissed him again, grabbing hold of his cock, still slick with you. Your hand stroked him softly as you shifted down the bed, timidly tapping his leg as to ask him to open them. He did so, and you climbed between them, licking your lips as his cock bobbed in anticipation. You took him hungrily into your mouth, not bothering to tease, too eager to feel him.

Now it was your turn to show how unfair you could be, expertly taking him deep into your throat, holding there until you choked. Immediately, he was gone, head falling back on the pillow until he realized he would rather watch you. Your hand assisted your bobbing head, using your tongue to lap at every vein and ridge of his perfect dick. His groans and words of encouragement and yes gatitas only fueled you, giving everything you had to taking him. You almost wanted him to cum right there, to lose all composure and fill your mouth. He had other plans, however, pulling you by the hair off his cock and admiring the fucked out look on your face.

“So fucking pretty,” he mused, pulling you up to him and kissing you. It was all a ploy, of course, and you let him guide you to straddle him, your hips hovering just above his waiting cock. He ordered you to look at him, your brain already to fuck drunk disobey, eyes fixed on him as he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Go ahead, take it all,” he couldn’t help but grin, brow furrowing in pleasure as you did just that, your own face mirroring his. It was almost too much, almost. Getting your balance, you slowly began to bounce on his lap, leaning on his shoulders for leverage. From there it was an endurance test, the pleasure of riding him only tainted by the strain it put on your knees. Still, you continued, his hands finding your hips to help bounce you on his lap, mewling when his hand crashed down on your ass.

You loved having the power. Loved watching his face twist in pleasure as you grinded your hips down onto his. … and you loved that it took little effort for him to suddenly flip you onto your back once more, placing your legs up around his shoulders as he sunk back into you. Every thrust was slow now. Powerful. So much so that each one knocked you back into the wall. It didn’t matter, you were too delirious by the way he was abusing that little spot inside you, seeing stars as you looked up at his concentrated face.

It was close, again, a climax brewing in your core that nearly overtook you the moment you felt it. Your sighs and moans became whines, hands gripped the sheets below you as he just continued with each knock of his hips to yours, folding you up as he leaned forward and somehow sunk impossibly deeper inside you. You pleaded to him, begged him, did everything you could to encourage him to keep going, please. Just another minute. ‘I’m so close’. But he didn’t even have time to stop, the wave crashing over you as the last ‘please’ left your lips and all you could hear was ringing in your ears and the sound of him grunting through each perfect squeeze of your walls around him.

And suddenly you heard something new. A breathy sort of noise intermixed with ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ as his thrusts grew less calculated. Almost sloppy. His hips jerking with every thrust until he couldn’t stall any longer.

“Come on, Papí. Come for me…” you breathed, certain you were tearing the sheets at this point while your cunt pulsed around him, still coming yourself.

Papí. That was all it took for him to fill you, painting your walls as his fingernails dug crescents into your thighs. You laid there, chest heaving as the two of you shared a blissful moment, eyes locked in the realization of what had just happened. And then, as if to dispel the little voice of worry in the back of your mind, he let your legs down gently and climbed up beside you, taking your face into his hands and kissing you. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss, but it was perfect for that moment. Perfect enough to ease that budding anxiety.

“We should do that again…” he whispered into your ear, breaking the tension in the air as you burst into a laugh.

“I was thinking the very same thing.”

——

Friends who asked to be tagged: @melisabesurviving @bbygirlnessa18 @missfamilyjeweles @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @thealliasylum @romanreignkisser

[cookiebelle]

Oops. I’m watching Peacemaker and I’m a little bit in love with this guy.

Kinda wanna write some fic…

[cookiebelle]

Maybe I’m just having a bad day or something but good lord this hurt so good and now I’m just sitting here crying in the best way

❛ did you miss me ? ❜ for bob taylor ? :3

Baby, you're just harder to see than most

Pairing - Bob Taylor x Neutral!Reader

Summary - Bob brings you flowers, once again.

Word Count - 660

Warnings - heavy angst (im serious), mentions of grief and loss, reader is dead, bob is visiting readers grave, mentions of therapy and trauma, no use of y/n

A/N - Im aware this probably is the last thing you wanted, I'm really sorry. (this one's a lil all over the place.)

His shoes crunched beneath the dead leaves, their various shades of brown and orange littering the hill. The grass was no longer vibrant, as usual during the winter months. Dried patches could be spotted, amongst the once lush greenery. January’s frigid air nipped at his pale cheeks, leaving behind a dust of red across his nose.

Bob licked at his chapped lips, denying the urge to gnaw at them. A gust of wind blew past, brushing back his unkempt dark locks. The trees swayed, as leaves fluttered to the ground around him. Overhead, dark gray clouds threatened to swallow the town. 

He tugged at the thin overcoat, wrapping it further around his body. Yet the cold persisted, causing a deep chill to rest in his bones. His hands shook, as they gripped onto a bundle of white Camellia’s wrapped in parchment paper. Last month, he gave you Sunflowers. Something to represent a little warmth. And the month before that, bright Marigolds that stood out like the sun against your gravestone. 

His feet stood in front of it now, the sunflowers gone, having become wilted and thrown out. Birds chirped, speaking to one another of the pale one, returning again. 

‘Poor boy.’ He could imagine them saying. ‘Visiting in this weather.’ 

Bob gently laid the flowers by your grave, allowing the tiny critters of the earth to seek refuge amongst the petals. 

“Did you miss me?” he asked, lips awkwardly quivering to form a smile. 

You, of course, never answered. The one-sided conversations used to hurt, a reminder that the only evidence he had of your voice now was in past memories. 

But even those were starting to fade. 

“I really missed you, too.” He replied, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

The grief was once unbearable. It burrowed itself into his chest, like a woodland creature seeking shelter in a tree. He was aware there was something living inside of him, taking up its share of space. It would nibble at his heart, grotesque hot mouth lapping at the veins as it thanked him for “providing during its hibernation.’ 

But he had made a friend of grief long ago, as a young boy. He understood, better than most, grief does not hibernate. It builds tunnels deep within you, hiding in the dark corners. 

Your heart is its bed, where it rests its beastly head for slumber. 

“I’m getting help.” He mentioned, toying with a piece of pocket string. “I have sessions once a week with a therapist.” 

Leaves danced by his feet, being swept away by the wind. He imagined, in some sense, that it was you. Brushing by him, reaching out in acknowledgement. 

The corners of his lips twitched, at the thought. 

“I’m sorry for taking so long to get around to it.” He muttered, staring at the ground. “I’m ready to get better, though.” The grass curled around his shoes, trying to keep him steady. 

The confession felt almost dirty, having admitted it out loud. But it was the truth, dear god, it was the honest truth. 

He wanted to get better, and live, it was almost painful how much he desired it. It was a deep ache, one given to him at birth. Something he knew before grief, before god, before the hell that had swallowed him for years. 

Bob wanted to get better, and live so he could bring you a bundle of Carnations next month. And Dahlias the month after. And Peonies, Orchids, Daffodils. 

A garden would begin to grow around your grave, life cradling death. And when that garden grew, maybe the visits would slow as he would finally find himself at ease. 

Maybe grief would sprout into a beautiful reminder that he had shared a life with you, at one point. 

Until then, he would bring you flowers. The memories would still be painful, but you were in them nonetheless. 

And some small part of him thanked the world for that. 

[cookiebelle]

Needing Something Sweet - pt. 2

Scenario - What it would be like to kiss/make out with Abner Krill, Johnson and Bob Taylor

A/N - Decided to focus on a few of of my favorite boys for this one.

ABNER KRILL - A little awkward, and in need of reassurance. Abner is nervous about doing something wrong, or not fully satisfying you. At first, he would be too still, not moving his mouth along with the rhythm of yours. The adrenaline of kissing you would cause his hands to shake, as he clutches at the fabric of your shirt, a little overwhelmed. Once he fully is immersed in it, you'll find his lips chasing after yours when you two pull apart. Abner loves the more slow paced make out sessions, either on the couch or in bed when it's just you two. From there, his little bit of confidence will lead him to pull you closer, a whine bubbling in the back of his throat when it's still not close enough. When he becomes breathless, he'll rest his forehead against yours, dilated eyes flickering down to your swollen lips.

JOHNSON - Certified gentleman. This man will leave you swooning. Properly cradling your jaw in one hand, while the other rests on your hip. He tastes like Marlboro's, the bitter palate lingering on your tongue long after he's gone. Tends to get caught up just gazing at you, before he leans to kiss you. Would maybe dominate a little, pushing you up against a wall or pressing your body into the couch. Personally loves trailing down your jaw, and neck, where he'll tenderly trace his lips over your exposed collarbone. Hands are made for worshipping, and that's exactly what he does. You'll feel him squeeze at your flesh, trying to bring you closer. Things can get heated pretty quickly, so expect most small kisses to turn into make out sessions.

BOB TAYLOR - Timid, and a little unsure. You would have to guide Bob a little at first, as you place his hands to settle on your waist. I imagine he would be a little stiff, tensing up when your lips meet his. For a while, you would have to initiate any intimate moments with Bob and put in most of the work. Poor boy would be a blushing, stuttering mess. Though Bob loves it when you cradle his jaw, your lips softly molding with his as you take the lead. There's something special about being held by his partner, in this personal moment only shared between you two. Bob's favorite places to kiss you are your cheek and shoulder. It's easier, as he doesn't have to look you in the eye so it gives him the chance to encase every drop of love he has into it. He won’t admit it, but he personally loves it when you kiss the corner of his mouth.

[cookiebelle]

Devil I know - Ch. 1

Pairing - Obsessive!Jack Delroy x Fem!Reader

Summary - A bad string of luck leads you right to his feet.

Word count - 4.1 k

Warnings - dark!jack delroy, 18+, nsfw, dubious consent, smut, masturbation, stalker tendencies, possessive behavior, jealousy, mention of death, mention of cancer, invasion of privacy, mention of smoking, fem reader, fem pronouns, set in the 70s so expect sexism, abuse of power, jack is not a good person in this, overall creepy behavior from jack, cults, rituals, mention of religion, no use of y/n, implied age gap, personal assistant!reader

A/N - first series so a lil nervous. here we go.

series masterlist (coming soon) | main masterlist

March, 1977

You were starting to believe you were cursed. 

Perhaps you were hexed, or a malevolent god set its sights on you for no reason other than for you to suffer. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, til your lungs felt like they would burst. Los Angeles cool night breeze tickled the back of your neck. When you re-opened them, the words on the wrinkled piece of paper in your hand remained the same. 

RENT INCREASE BEGINNING NEXT MONTH 

An inexplicable rage burned through your bones as you unlocked the front door. The harsh sound of the door slamming behind you shook the curtains as you stepped inside the apartment. 

“Have you seen this?” you asked, slamming the piece of paper onto the kitchen counter. Your roommate (and long-time friend) Lisa jumped, balancing a cup of tea in her hands. She peered down at it, brushing back her feathered brown hair. You could see her shoulders sag as she quietly read to herself. 

“Great.” she muttered, taking a sip from her mug. “They haven’t even fixed our leaking sink yet.” 

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the counter. 

“That’s not even the worst of it.” 

Lisa watched as you tossed the bright work shirt on the counter, along with an unopened bottle of wine. A tacky red bow was sloppily glued to the front of it, already falling off. The mere sight of the ‘parting gift’ made your stomach clench. 

“The store is closing at the end of the week.” you explained, pushing the bottle towards her. “So they decided to let a bunch of their staff go early.” 

The familiar bitter feeling of disappointment swarmed you again, as you bit back tears. 

“It's a store brand.” you mentioned, watching Lisa look down at it with disdain. 

“How nice of them.”

 She looked back at you, with a mixture of pity and visible concern. 

You groaned, rubbing your face as you glared down at the letter. The black bold lettering on the paper stared up at you, mocking the situation. 

“Alright.” Lisa started, placing her mug on the counter. “It’s going to work out, you’ll find another job.” She faintly smiled, dimples poking out from her sweet round face. 

You tried to return the smile, but it felt too tight and stretched on you. 

“Yeah, It’ll be that easy.” you muttered, the day's events threatening to anchor you to the floor. Lisa tapped at the side of her cup, a nervous habit of hers. You wordlessly grabbed the bottle off of the counter and made your way over to the couch. The ribbon was completely off now, showcasing the store’s label printed on the front. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Choosing not to have a single sober thought.” You explained, wiggling the bottle at her. “Care to join?” 

Lisa was sprawled out on the couch, balancing an empty glass on her stomach. Some mindless sitcom aired on the tv, the grating sound of the laugh track filling the cramped living room. The half empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table. 

You were currently chewing on your second piece of Bubble Yum, the artificial sweet treat masking the bitter drink that lingered on your breath. A character in the show made a joke, causing the audience to erupt into a boisterous fit of laughter. Behind you, from your place on the floor, Lisa giggled at the screen. 

“I think I’m going to have to drink a bottle of mouthwash.” you said, slumping against the couch. Lisa flipped around on her stomach, her hazel eyes glancing down at you. From the lamp's dim glow, you could make out the constellation of freckles that painted her face. 

“It could have been worse.”

You snorted, “Other than me losing my job.” 

Lisa’s round green eyes widened, frowning at your words. She rested her cheek against her palm, her long acrylic nails tapping against the glass she still held onto. 

You two fell into a long silence, Lisa slowly finishing off the bottle of wine. The outro to the show played across the screen, a generic upbeat tune that fueled a headache. Your body felt heavy, as you rested the back of your head against the edge of the couch cushion. The outro song felt unnecessarily long, as if it was being played on loop. Lisa must have also been dozing off, as her arm fell against your shoulder, soft snores emitting from her lips. Your head felt fuzzy from the alcohol, as you closed your eyes and drifted off.

Sunlight peeked through the curtain, stabbing you directly in the eyes. The shaggy beige carpet itched against your cheek, as you were curled up on the floor. You stretched your limbs, wincing as your lower back pinched. A migrain was working its way into the corners of your brain. Your mouth tasted like rotting fruit left out too long. 

“Jesus christ.” you groaned, pushing your tired body up off the floor. A pair of sandal cladded feet approached you, bending down to help your struggling form. 

“Did you really let me sleep on the floor?” you asked, looking up at Lisa who sheepishly shrugged. Her hair was curled, and a peachy blush coated her cheeks. She smelled like cinnamon sticks, it comforted the nauseating ball forming in your stomach. You sank down into the couch, the cushions offering some release to your stiff bones. 

The wall clock read 8:30 a.m. 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“My back is screaming at me.” You complained, massaging your fingers into your shoulder. 

Lisa rolled her eyes, straightening the edges of her cream colored blouse. Chunky silver bracelets covered her forearms, jingling with every movement. 

“I have errands to run today.” She explained, walking over to the front door where a multicolored crochet purse rested on a hook. 

You inwardly groaned at the mention of his name. Lisa fiddled with her purse, brushing back her hair that fell perfectly around her face. Her brows were pinched forward, as her hands skimmed over her outfit. 

“You look nice, stop worrying.” 

A shy smile rose from her lips, heat rising to her already blushed cheeks. It struck you, just how pretty she really was. The sudden blare of a car horn outside caused her to flinch. 

“Good luck!” She said, before racing out the door. 

You collapsed against the couch, welcoming the silence that followed. 

The lady apologetically smiled at you, with teeth too yellow and lipstick too bright. 

“I’m sorry, we filled in the position yesterday.” 

The greasy burger joint smelled of onions and smoke, wafting out into the open streets. Incoherent shouting could be heard behind her, from her stance by the cashier. The line of people behind you grumbled to themselves, trying to get through the lunch rush. You nodded, stepping back from the line as a couple sideyed you and approached the counter.

Three Days. Five applications. You weren’t sure if it was you, or the world at fault.

“I must be doing something wrong.” You muttered, sliding into the hot leather booth. The sun spilled through the window beside you, its rays warming the side of your face. 

“You could smile more.” Thomas said, sitting across from you. His arm was securely around Lisa’s shoulder, pulling her into his side. She elbowed him, throwing a glance his way before focusing her attention back on you. 

You sarcastically grinned, stretching your mouth so wide your cheeks began to hurt. 

The light caught on Thomas’s golden curly locks that went down to his shoulders. His wide set brown eyes shone with amusement at your gloomy expression. You ignored him, and chose to stare out the window, at the herds of people walking past. 

“Tom actually has some news,” Lisa said, motioning for him to speak. 

He remained quiet, toying with the straw wrapper in front of him. You sat back, clenching your jaw with impatience. The usual bitterness you held for the man continued to grow, causing you to sink further into your seat. LA’s summer sun beamed down on you, adding to the stuffy heat locked inside the restaurant. 

“Well,” he finally spoke, in a slow manner. “A friend of mine, Jersey, works with a film crew for some late night tv show.” 

“And?” You stretched out, waving for him to continue. 

Thomas reached for his drink, his pink lips drawing a long and agonizingly slow sip from the plastic straw. 

Asshole, you thought, suppressing the urge to groan. 

“And the host for said tv show is apparently looking for a personal assistant.” Lisa continued, before glaring over at Thomas. Her shoulders were tense, yet a sunny smile broke out on her face towards you. 

“Your friend told you this?” you asked, disbelief across your features. Thomas dressed like your average hippie, and was unemployed most of the time. As much as Lisa loved him, you had a hard time finding the information reliable. 

Thomas just nodded, providing no other information. 

“He can get you an interview.” Lisa said. 

You sighed, wanting to rest your head against the cool tabletop. Lisa bit at her bottom lip, eagerly awaiting your answer. Thomas nonchalantly chewed on the end of his straw, seemingly not caring either way. 

“How are you going to get me an interview?” 

“I’ll talk to Jersey, he’ll set it up.” Thomas said, tossing the straw back in the cup. 

“How do you even know him?” 

“I introduced them a few years ago,” Lisa chimed in. “Jersey and I used to attend the same university.”

“The one you dropped out of.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, dismissing your words with a wave of her hand. 

“I don’t even qualify for an assistant position.” You argued, crossing your arms. 

Lisa leaned across the table, taking your hand in hers. The rings from her fingers were warm against your skin. 

“Just go for the interview.” She pleaded, fingers lacing with yours. You tried to avoid her gaze, yet found it impossible as her viridescent eyes were locked on yours. 

“Lisa-

You contemplated it, rolling the idea back and forth in your mind like a marble. You hadn’t received a single phone call back, or even been scheduled for an interview. If Thomas could manage this, maybe you had a genuine shot of securing a job before April. The thought of having to dip into your savings account just to pay your portion of rent made your stomach drop. 

“What’s the show called?” 

“Night something.” Thomas replied, struggling to recall the name. 

You raised your brow, “Night something, gee that’s very helpful.” 

He brushed your comment off, ignoring the snark in your voice. 

“Do you at least know the name of the host?” You asked, staring him down from across the table. 

He bit the corner of his cheek, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“His name’s Jack Delroy.”

Two Days. That’s how long it took for Thomas to call. You were practically breathing down Lisa’s neck when she had the phone cradled to her ear. She scribbled down an address, her sloppy handwriting barely eligible. 

You peered down at the same note now, squinting as you re-read the address. It led to a towering office building, surrounded by green shrubbery that was recently trimmed. The entirety of it was glass, the windows reflecting cars and people walking down the street. Your stomach clenched, threatening to throw up this morning’s cup of coffee. 

Breathe, girl, you could practically hear Lisa say. 

The beige blazer you adorned was suffocating in another day of Los Angeles heat. A bead of sweat rolled down the curve of your back, making you grimace. You clutched onto the paper, stilling your shaking hands before walking through the double doors. 

The entryway led to a spacious waiting area, with brown leather chairs lined in a row. Only one other person occupied the area, sitting at the far end. The flooring was a warm beige tile, with a long dull green rug in front of the chairs. An older lady at the front desk,  silver hair fastened in a bun, was hunched over a stack of files. 

She glanced up at you from behind her glasses, which sat perched on the edge of her nose. 

You cleared your throat, “I’m here for an interview with Mrs. Davenson.” 

The lady let out a heavy sigh, and plucked the front desk phone from its receiver. She spoke into it, her eyes scanning you up and down for a moment. 

“Down the hall, third door to your left.” is all she said, before continuing her paperwork.  

You walked down the hall, heels clicking against the recently waxed floor. You smoothed out your top, hyper aware of the cotton fabric pressed up against your skin. As you approached the door, you drew in a deep breath, forcing down the building nausea.

“Please let this go right.” you prayed, before knocking. 

The office was stuffy, and had an overwhelming odor of tangerines. Mrs. Davenson sat across from you, behind her thick oak desk. She was a stout lady, with tan skin and thinning black hair. You shifted around in the seat, nervously digging at your nail bed. She peered down at your resume, silently glossing over it. The interview had been going on for 15 minutes now, each second chipping away at your relaxed composure. 

“You were an assistant manager at your most recent job?” She asked, glancing up at you. 

“Yes, for nearly a year.” 

“Have you worked as a personal assistant before?” 

“No, I have not.”

“What encouraged you to apply for this job, then?” She questioned, gently placing the paper back on her desk.

You fell silent, racking your brain for all the bullshit reasons you gave during past interviews. Somehow, it felt as if none of them applied here.

“Well-

Behind you, the wall clock steadily ticked away at your nerves. 

The sun was beginning to set, bathing your bedroom in a golden light. A warm breeze rustled the sheer embroidered curtains. Soft melodic music played from the record player on your dresser, filling the room. The hustle and bustle of people on the street was drowned out by the crooning of The Everly Brothers. 

Lisa sat beside you, analyzing an album cover. You were currently laying on your stomach, cheek squished against the pillow. The blue and yellow floral comforter itched against your skin, causing you to shift around. 

“I think you’re being dramatic.” She said, smacking on a piece of Bubble Yum.  

You groaned, “I fucking bombed it.” 

She sighed, shaking her head at you like a disappointed mother. “I kept freezing up.” You explained, rolling onto your back. 

“I bet it went a lot better than you think.” 

Lisa’s infectious positivity was beginning to give you a headache, as you brushed off her words. 

You scoffed, “I bet it didn’t.” 

Suddenly, you fell back against the mattress as Lisa smacked you with a pillow. Giggles fell from her lips like chimes as you scrambled to sit upright. 

“Would it kill you to be a little more optimistic?” 

You stared at her, watching as her smile fell to one of concern. Since you’ve known Lisa, she always tried to have a better outlook on things. Whether she truly believed in them or not, you weren’t sure. You never had the heart to ask her, either. 

Lisa shied away from your lingering gaze, choosing to pick at the lint on your bedding. 

Her face was bare, and dewy from the face cream she applied. The sun spilling in through your bedroom window washed over her features. 

“Yes, it would kill me.” You said, holding back a smile. 

Lisa rolled her eyes, smacking you on the shoulder. You two soon doubled over laughing, nearly falling on top of each other. Her fluffy hair tickled your skin, as the sweet smell of her hairspray filled your nose. 

The abrupt shrill sound of the phone ringing startled you. 

You looked over at your bedside clock, it was 7:15 p.m. 

Lisa groaned, begrudgingly climbing off the bed and heading to the living room. You trailed after her, watching as she picked up and answered. She exchanged a few quiet words, before holding the phone out to you. 

“Someone named Mrs. Dave-

You snatched the phone from her before she could finish. 

Lisa stepped to the side, to sit on the couch. 

“Hello?” You said, toying with the long beige cord. 

“We spoke earlier ma’am, regarding the personal assistant position.”

You nodded, “Yes, yes I remember.” 

Lisa peered up at you, a knowing look on her face.

“I wanted to briefly go over your schedule since you’ll be starting tomorrow.” 

It felt as if the air had escaped your lungs, leaving you too breathless to speak. You flinched as Lisa pinched your forearm, her nails leaving a mark in the skin. 

“O-Of course.” You stuttered, grasping onto the phone cord. 

Mrs. Davenson did in fact briefly go over your schedule,  not even pausing to breathe. You scribbled her words down, trembling fingers barely holding onto the pen. It felt like some strange dream, as you stared down at the address of the studio she gave you. You half expected the paper to burst into flames, as you fell through the floor into total nothingness, before waking. 

“Of course, when you come in you’ll be asked to sign some documents.” Mrs. Davenson informed. “Afterwards, you’ll be introduced to Mr. Delroy, and his team.” 

“Sounds great!” You said, nervously chuckling. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

The lady hummed, before promptly hanging up. You still held onto the phone, as if it might jump out of your hand. 

“I should have bet money.” Lisa said, laughing at the look of disbelief on your face. 

“Oh, shut up.” 

Tomorrow came faster than you would have liked. It felt as if you had no time to prepare, as you were being thrown directly into the deep end. You stared in the mirror, smoothing out the creases in your skirt that came above the knee. The snug turtleneck felt warm against your skin, causing you to tug at the fabric. Lisa had lent you a pair of black tights, that thankfully weren’t riddled with holes or lines. The sleek black pumps pinched your feet. 

Your stomach churned, bile rising up in your throat before you promptly swallowed it down. The turtleneck now felt constricting, as if gently squeezing at your neck. You braced yourself against the ceramic sink, sucking in shallow breaths. Here you were, hiding in the studio’s bathroom, wanting to throw your inside up. Your hands trembled, curling around the edges of the sink. 

Oh god, what am I doing here? You thought. I’ve been laid off from my last two jobs, as if it was some inside joke between the companies. Even Lisa has better luck with stability, she’s worked at the same botanical garden for the past three years. 

“Stop it.” you scolded, rubbing at the sides of your temples. The overwhelming nausea made you feel faint, like someone spun you around too fast. 

The sharp sound of the bathroom stall door unlatching forced you to stand upright. 

 Finally, you pulled your hands away from their tight grip on the sink. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the creases in your foundation.

With a sigh, you left the bathroom, clenching your fists. 

Nearly an hour had passed of signing documents and going over general contracts. The fine printed words somehow became warped by the end, overlapping one another with terms and phrases you didn’t understand. The lawyer across from you nodded, and smiled when you signed the NDA. 

You now patiently waited for your tour guide, to help you become acquainted with the studio set. 

The hallway walls were gray, with a saturated patterned carpet that strained your eyes to look at. Few women passed by, not even sparing a glance towards you as they strode forward, with purpose and importance. You tugged at your skirt, somehow feeling underdressed now. 

A soft tap to your shoulder made you flinch. You snapped your head, meeting a pair of warm brown eyes. He was a dark skinned man, with a short afro and goatee. 

“Whoa, sorry.” He apologized, chuckling at your reaction. “Didn’t mean to set you off.”

You shook your head, softly smiling at him. “It’s my bad, I was a little distracted I guess.” 

“You’re Lisa Carter’s friend, right?”

“Yeah, how did you-

You squinted, taking in his slim tall figure. He wore flared jeans, and an all green flannel. Suddenly, it clicked. 

“Are you Jersey?” 

“That’s just a nickname.” He explained, waving his hand. “My name is actually Jacob Miller.”

Jacob stuck his hand out, you politely shook it and introduced yourself. 

“So, why Jersey then?” 

He let out an airy laugh, rubbing at his neck. “It’s not the most creative of reasons. I just happen to be from New Jersey, and the name sort of stuck when I came out to Los Angeles.” 

You nodded, somewhat disappointed by the obvious reason. 

“I’ll stick with Jacob, then.” 

He smiled at your answer, and moved aside. The long stretch of hallway behind him seemed to go on for miles, of just the same wall and carpeting. 

“Don’t worry, after a while you’ll be able to navigate this place blindfolded.” Jacob said, urging you to follow him. You had to take long strides, to match his pace. The overhead fluorescent lighting buzzed, reflecting off of Jacob’s leather brown loafers. 

“So, what is he like?”

“Who?” Jacob said, glancing over at you. 

“Mr. Delroy, I haven’t had the chance to meet him yet.”

He shrugged. “I’ve only been working here a couple years now. Haven’t really spoken to him much during that time.” 

You stayed silent, hoping for a better answer. 

“He’s a nice guy, from what I know.” He continued. “Doesn’t treat his employees like shit.”

You snorted. “The bar is in hell if that’s all.” 

“In this line of work, you’ll find out the bar can go much lower.” 

You tried to brush off his words, shoving them into the dark corners of your mind. But they left behind an echo, as you two approached the set door. Jacob opened the door, politely allowing you to step inside first. 

The door led to a dark corner of the set, cut off from the audience’s view. Jacob promptly shut the door, leading you further backstage. Multiple sets of chairs, and tables were left out, cluttered with props and food. A vanity was to your right, the massive dark bulbs outlining the mirror. Makeup brushes and pallets were strewn about on the table. 

Then there were the people. 

They milled around the set, hanging over by the snack table or mingling by the cameras. The overhead lights were turned on, showcasing an empty audience. A hazy fog of smoke filtered the air, itching your throat. 

So this is where the magic happens.” You said, looking back at Jacob. 

He nodded, rubbing his ring cladded fingers over his angled jaw. 

“It’s usually more chaotic, but we don’t shoot till tomorrow night.” He explained, surveying the scene. 

A couple of people milling around the cameras waved towards him. You noticed their stares lingered on you, the only unfamiliar face. The tight knot in your stomach threatened to come undone. 

Jacob tapped your arm in reassurance. “You’ll find your way around here, just give it time.” 

“You sound like Lisa.” You blurted out. 

A warm smile bloomed on his face at the comparison, lighting up his eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

You went to respond, when Jacob’s eyes shifted to look behind you. Something in the air moved, as the few people hanging around also diverted their attention. The sound of multiple footsteps approaching forced you to swiftly turn around. 

A lady was walking towards you, closely followed by a man who towered over her. He wore a dark navy suit, adorning a striped red and black tie. His black dress shoes shined, just recently polished. 

“Here comes the man of the hour.” Jacob whispered, leaning his head towards you. 

The man stuck out his hand when he approached, his black eyes boring into yours as he politely smiled at you. His dark hair was brushed back, exposing his forehead. 

“Jack Delroy.” He introduced, warm palm against yours. “I understand you're my new assistant.” 

“Yes, I am.” You beamed, firmly shaking his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Mr Delroy.” 

The studio lights glared down at you, getting caught in your eye. 

You allowed yourself to believe, for a second, that things would work out this time around. 

Maybe Lisa is right, you thought. 

Maybe. 

[cookiebelle]

Absolutely tickled by the fact that Me Fui de Vacaciones is getting some views again after Damian cashed in.

For those who haven’t read it yet, I linked it up above 😌

[cookiebelle]

[cookiebelle]

[cookiebelle]

What’s up bitches. I took a break from writing and now I’m back to talk about what a babe Damian Priest is.

[cookiebelle]

This is so hot and so beautifully written. God.

allow me to speak about kissing stevo for just a second

at punk shows stevo kisses dirty. against a wall in the crowded, hot room, punks bumping against punks in the mosh while you and stevo bump tongues just a couple feet away.

you both never really know who initiated it; just know that one second you were pushing and shoving and the next you’ve got each others tongues in your mouth, and your back is hitting the cool wall behind you.

you both grunt at the impact, his hands flying to your face and yours tangling in his shirt. he tastes like bud and liquor, some cheap shit that burns more than it tastes good. you taste like vanilla and weed. gripping your face with both hands is how he keeps you against him, and he lets you yank his body against yours with your tight grip on his shirt, pulling his lean frame as close to yours as you can. the sounds that escape you both are almost animalistic, growls and grunts and cut off curses that match the atmosphere.

stevo kisses filthy, tongue and spit and big hands cupping your face, his body pressing you into the wall. his tongue doesn’t stay in its place, instead exploring and tasting your lips, swirling around your mouth until your chin is cold from the air against his spit. he doesn’t take breaks to breathe, just inhales and exhales into your mouth until you’re sure the air you both are breathing is just the others cycled back.

in his van stevo kisses thoroughly. he kisses soft, big hand rubbing gently across your cheek as you both lean over the console. pulled over somewhere in an abandoned park, you swap spit and lick into each other’s mouth with leisure. it’s a date, sort of, an impromptu trip to the gas station and a drive around the slc.

closed mouth pecks turn into deeper kisses, less and less time between each one until it becomes unbearable to separate. there’s no where to go, he takes his time to taste you, to lick at your vanilla flavored gloss, to really feel your tongue against his. he tastes like the snacks you shared earlier. chocolate flavor lingers on his tongue.

with swollen lips he devours you, pleasureful and satisfied, softer music than his usual punk stuff flowing quietly from his radio. its changed songs a handful of times the whole time you’ve been kissing and you’ve lost track of how long it’s even been, the cassette flipping from his music to yours, a shared mixtape you’d crafted one night. wet smacks fill the air, the soft pops of your lips disconnecting just to merge again do too, heads swaying from one side to the other.

his nose bumps against yours, and your hands are caressing either side of his face. it’s calm, it’s romantic. he hums and you embrace, making the most of this moment. somehow, you don’t run out of breath, the small inhales and exhales you take supplying your almost unbroken kisses.

at your place stevo kisses comfortably. his hands run up your back, or grip at your thighs on either side of him, his back curved to allow him to reach your lips. sunlight streams in through the windows and another cassette plays. bob’s out with trish, should be out all night and that’s perfect, it feels different when it’s just you and stevo.

with your face in his hands is how he kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy, blissful moans flowing from his lips. something feels different about kissing you in the room that you share, on the blanket that you both agreed on, in the space you’ve both cultivated.

you feel warm inside. his hand finds your chin when you take a second to breathe, tilting your lips to his again , blues low and dark as he commits your face to memory again. stevo’s in fucking love, and you feel every time he moves his lips against yours, every time he gets to taste you on his tongue. you taste like you, a beautiful something he’s gotten used to. he’s comfortable, sure of what he has with you, and you can feel it in every kiss. he tastes like him.

stevo kisses like he wants to marry you (he does). he kisses sweet and tender and so unlike his outward appearance. hands tangled in his blue hair, you return his devotion.

[cookiebelle]

This is so beautifully written. Just delicious. I’ve read it like five times and it just keeps getting better.

Rotten Petals

William Afton x Reader

content: afab!reader, angsty smut ;P

word count: 1.5k

ao3 link

It was true that his hands left black marks on your skin, on your soul. Deft, filthy fingers pressed deep into your flesh time and time again, acid-laced words slithering into your mind and silencing the rational part of yourself that said that this was the last time.

You bring a hand to your face.

It'd been a week since you'd last seen him, he was busy, he'd said over the phone, busy dealing with Freddy's and the absolute mess it had devolved into. You'd been to that place once for a family gathering, and never again. You knew what took place there; you could see the screams on the walls, the blood scrubbed by those very hands that you let touch you- and it was sickening. You'd watched as your family laughed and played, completely unaware, and glanced over as he stared you down from across the room with a grin on his face. Those missing posters recently plastered on milk cartons made your insides churn, made your mind run in circles trying to find some justification. Moonlight streamed through the blinds onto your skin; you felt the ghost of his hand around your throat, the ghost of a knife pressed there too- and you sighed.

A knock at the door makes you jump. A rapid, almost violent string of knocks follows, and your stomach drops. 

Every hidden, tucked away piece of rationality lodged into your mind leaps up at once, begging you not to open that door, pleading desperately with you to stay in bed and hold the pillow tighter, cry quieter and pretend that nothing's wrong until that knocking goes away. But these voices are too quiet. In reality, there was only a moment of hesitation, a mere blip with the lifespan of a mayfly before you were on your feet, stumbling over discarded clothes to reach the front door. You fumble with the locks, heart beating with the ferocity of a prey-animal as a mixture of dread, excitement, fear and desire fight for dominance in the pit of your stomach.

And then he's in front of you. 

The light from the corridor lights up one side of him, leaving the other in deep shadow. There are stains on his white button-up, dark and unsettling, but today they appear to be nothing more than motor oil. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, you note, as your eyes drag along the vein running up his arm, along the creases in his shirt, and finally reach his own eyes that have a crazed, hardly hidden spark in them. He smiles, a genuine thing that juxtaposes the death and distaste that fit along the lines in his face. His hands find your waist as he steps forward, squeezing, kneading and moving you back into the small apartment he's marked as his property; his beard scratches your neck as he lays unnaturally sweet kisses against your throat- and you want to give in, you need to let your brain turn off, but a shaky excitement is wrapped tight around his figure- and you're terrified of what that means.

"William..." You mumble, barely forming the syllables, but he hushes you immediately, his breath warm against your neck as he consoles you in an almost mocking way. But you take it, you love it, you whimper as he smiles against your skin and laughs at your pathetic response. You're back in your bedroom now, moonlight flittering over the two of you as he slumps into your bed and pulls you into his lap; that look is still in his eye, and you find yourself asking, "What happened?" without actually wanting to know. His hand comes up to loosen his tie, and his words escape with a breathless quality. 

"They moved- they-" He clears his throat, and meets your gaze. "They moved again on their own, but more fluidly. More alive, more..." The horror in your mind is tangible to him, he feels it instantly, and he begins to stroke your hair, to tuck it behind your ear lovingly. "More alive works. They appeared more alive today." 

The only response you can give is a wavering hum, and a momentarily bowed head. And you know he revels in it- revels in the disgust you feel for him and the inability you have to live without him. He laughs lightly, nothing more than an exhale, and lifts your face back to his. 

And then you're kissing him, hard, because you don't want to think about what he's just said- you don't want to think about anything but the way his skin feels against yours and the way his grip crushes you into nothing but rotten petals again, and again. 

Your hands slip off his tie as his cold fingers slide up your shirt- you swallow your gasp and almost laugh at the tease, willfully forgetting that the man you were about to fuck had just reminded you that he was a murderer, a disgusting man that hell had gurgled up one day and spat onto the earth for its own sick amusement; he was dangerous, horribly so, and the thought alone sent a filthy shock through your abdomen. He flips you over, pressing you into the messy covers as your shirt is peeled off without thought. His hands squeeze your neck, your breasts, your waist whilst pressing sweet kisses to your stomach. You stare down at him through a half-lidded gaze, squirming every time his eyes flit up to yours whilst he tugs down your slacks, his breath hot against your thighs, his bites erotically painful. 

You throw your head back with a hitched breath as he licks a strip up your pussy, and you wonder for a hot second why you continue to let this man defile you with his searing touch and horrifying cruelty; he laps you up like water, thumbing your clit all the while, and the heat in your abdomen clashes with the disgust in your chest- and you feel your eyes sting. There was something so undeniably broken inside you, because you liked it, you loved it when he held you, when he choked you and when he fucked you like a man starved. You moan as he pushes a finger inside you, then another, shuffling up just in time to see a tear run along your face- and he hushes you, he consoles you, whispers a gentle, "What's wrong?" and smiles when you tell him it feels too good, too overwhelming. You taste yourself on his tongue as you kiss and arch your back as his fingers undo you with ease, but as your grip on him tightens, as your whimpers and moans heighten, he pulls his hand away. You re-open your eyes, whining, reaching down to touch yourself but he stops you with an iron grip, and tuts. 

His belt clinks as he discards it into the already-impressive pile of clothes that's been on your floor for a week. He palms his already-hard cock, lining it with your entrance in a messy, impatient motion as you throw your head back in desire, in disgust, in relief that he prefers fucking you to killing you. Your hands drift from his shoulders to his hair peppered with various shades of grey, and his first thrusts are slow, thoughtful even- but then his fingers wrap around your throat like a necklace and he starts fucking you like an animal. His shirt is still on, you realise, as he presses his body hard against yours and shoves his face into the crook of your neck, biting, rasping out grunts and dirt-covered words you can barely hear. Your moans and cries hitch as his grip on your throat tightens, loosens, and his other hand pulls at the fat of your hips; the sound of skin-against-skin fills the small room and the knot in your abdomen is tight again already, brutally so, and as he fucks you into the covers you moan brokenly into his ear. An undeniably violent wave of ecstasy washes over your body, over your eyes, over your heart, and you feel wonderfully helpless against his ravaging of your body.

In this tiny, brief moment, you forget all about his misdeeds. Even with his hand wrapped tight around your throat and his hips stuttering against yours, you feel peace for a second, pretending to yourself that William Afton loved you, that he cared for you and he'd done none of the things he'd openly confessed to doing. He was simply your troubled lover, nothing more and nothing less.

His groan is hitched and raw as he cums pressed deep inside of you, breath hot against the side of your face. You stroke his hair for a brief moment as he recovers, chest heaving, but soon he shifts over and lies down beside you, leaning up against the headboard. You can already feel the bruises forming, the bitemarks that he'd left scattered over your flesh. He meets your eyes again, that crazed look temporarily satiated, and asks for a cigarette in a tired voice. He did last time, and the time before that, so now you had a pack on the nightstand waiting for the occasion; you lean up against him, wrapping yourself around him like ivy as the lighter clicks a few times, and then the flame comes to life. It lights up William's face for the few seconds it's on, and then the sharp smell of smoke hits your lungs and poisons them that slight bit more.

[cookiebelle]

Oh I needed this fic. I’m not a big Ghostface girlie specifically but I do love me a mask/helmet.

This was such a treat to read. Who among us doesn’t want to be held at knifepoint by that little freak? I love love loved it.

𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 | ghostface!darren (pig) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | he probably wasn't even invited to this party, because who would invite him? but he came anyways... just to torment you. far more than you could've imagined, in fact.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 2.5k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | NONCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!!, public sex, degradation, pain kink, knife kink, a bit of predator/prey, blood kink, smoking, unprotected sex/implied risk of pregnancy, darren is kind of an incel lmao

It was a pretty traditional high school party— overcrowded, loud and sweaty, bad music and worse liquor— but at least the sea of costumes, ranging from scary to silly to sexy, added at least some new layer of interest to the whole thing.

You hadn’t tried very hard with your devil costume— more accurately an attempt at a ‘sexy devil’ costume— but you put on horns and heels with a tight red dress and nobody can really complain.  You weren’t really here to get into the ‘spooky spirit’ or whatever anyways, just an excuse to drink and maybe chat with some people you’d been missing.

The person you ended up chatting to right in that moment, though, was exactly the last person you wanted to talk to.

You didn’t even know there was someone behind you until you felt him press up to your back, suddenly hovering right by you.  “Want a drink?” he asked, shoving a cup towards you, but you were too busy nearly jumping out of your skin to care— you almost knocked the drink over, actually some of it did splash onto another partygoer, but she was too drunk to notice.

“Fuck!” you yelped, turning to see the gangly boy behind you.  “Christ, Darren, do you have to always sneak up on a girl like that?”

He just smiled and tried to offer the drink to you again.

“M’already holding one,” you pointed out with a frown, “didn’t ya notice?”

“O-oh yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the cup finally.  “Costume looks good.”

“Thanks,” you shrugged, though you suddenly felt the urge to tug down the bottom of your dress.

“You’re not worried what the boys are gonna think with you dressed like that?” he asked, and you glared at him as you shoved his shoulder.  

“Don’t you think before you open your fuckin’ mouth?” you spat.  “What are you, anyway?”

The black robes didn’t really tell you anything— not until he reached behind his head and pulled a Ghostface mask over his face.

“Oh,” you snorted, “not the most original, is it?”

“Don’t like t’movie?” he wondered as he pulled the mask back again.

“I mean, it’s pretty good,” you relented, “but—”

“You wanna fuck ‘im, don’t you?” he insisted suddenly with a lascivious grin. 

“What?” you squinted.

“Ghostface,” he clarified, “you’re one of the girls who thinks he’s fit, yeah?”

“Why are you always such a creep?” you asked him with a grimace, but then you decided to change the topic quickly.  “Kinda thought you’d be a pig or something,” you admitted, “with the nickname and all.”

“Nah, that’s stupid,” he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms— which made you notice the prop knife in his hand.  It actually looked pretty good, shinier than most plastic costume knives.

Just then, Jimmy O’Doyle sauntered up beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.  “Ay, little devil,” he greeted, flicking the red horns on your head as you smiled sheepishly.

He hardly acknowledged Darren, spare for a quick nod, but Darren was staring at Jimmy for a little too long before he looked at you again.

“Thought you said you didn’t want a boyfriend,” Darren said sharply, glowering a bit.

Jimmy scoffed and you shifted uncomfortably; Darren tended to be… what’s the word… desperate?  Clingy?  Overall bizarre?  He certainly couldn’t take much of a hint.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said first, though that didn’t really matter— you didn’t need any reason to reject Darren, outside of your natural self-preservation instinct.  He actually wasn’t bad-looking, but it was hard to tell past those leering eyes and the uncomfortable smile.  He wasn’t smiling now though… he looked quietly enraged, sipping pointedly on his drink as he glanced away for a moment.  

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Jimmy smirked at you, hardly waiting for your nod before disappearing back into the crowd.

Suddenly, as you felt Darren’s livid gaze from awkwardly close, you decided that you needed a little fresh air.  And by that, you really meant a cigarette.

Not wanting to tell Darren that you were going outside for a smoke, you instead mumbled some excuse about going to the loo— somewhere he was just sane enough not to follow you to— and bumped through the crowd until you found a door out into the neighbourhood.

There was a slight drizzle still going outside— more of a misting, really— that made everything all foggy and grey, spare for the yellow-y glow of the streetlamps dotting the way.  It wasn’t a full moon, as cool as that would be, but near to one… regardless, it wasn’t visible behind low, dark clouds, leaving the night starless and dreary.  There wasn’t much to look at in the alley as you lit your cigarette and took slow drags from it, so as you stared blankly forward at brick walls with chipping whitewash, your mind wandered a bit.  Nothing of great merit: upcoming assignments, the possibility of an afterparty, the lingering hope you could find a steamy hook-up for the night… you didn’t just put this outfit on for the pictures.

Before you could get too far into your imagination, you were startled by a distant sound, jumping slight as your head turned towards it— but it was just the dark alley, not much to see.  You squinted, trying to make out movement in the shadows, but for quite a while you couldn’t see anything.

Only when you turned your head back forward with a shrug was there any sign of what you’d heard, just a shift in the corner of your eye.  You looked at it again, and you hated to admit it, but your heart froze up for a second when that white face emerged from the darkness.

Of course, you gave your best unaffected scoff when you actually processed what you were looking at.

“Quit it, Darren,” you warned, willing your voice to sound stable as you shouted down the road towards him, “you’re not gonna scare me.”

You watched him move closer, stepping into the light so you could see him better, and tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck stood up.  If he knew he was getting to you, he’d just keep doing it; you rolled your eyes and took a drag through your cigarette to try to seem nonchalant… but you had to stop your hand from shaking just a bit.  Only because it was chilly out, surely…

You thought it was a joke— a stupid joke, but still just a joke— until he dragged his knife along the brick wall as he stalked toward you.  The sharp, high-pitched screech of metal against stone was unmistakable… and that was how you realised it was a real knife.  A very sharp, very real knife; he’s going to actually kill me, you thought, just before you let out a primal and instinctive scream.

Turning on your heel, you ran as fast as you could.  Each rapid pulse of your heart pumped adrenaline through your veins, and you felt so shaky that you worried the light night breeze would knock you over.  

These were far from running shoes, though— they were pretty excruciating to just stand in, actually— and it was only a few blocks of a chase before you tripped.  Yelping in pain, you tried to scramble up or even crawl forward… but just as you rolled over and winced from landing on your hip, you saw him stalking forward into the flickering light of a streetlamp.

He was probably just going to take the mask off and laugh at you, right?  Reveal the whole thing was a silly prank and the knife was fake and that he just wanted to prove you were scared of him.  Yes, that would be the most sane thing for him to do at that moment, even after being so not-sane by chasing you with a knife.  Instead, as you tried to crawl back, he just tilted his masked head curiously at you, and with his free hand reached down and palmed at his groin.  He was hard— you could see the outline of it through his costume, his hips rocking forward slightly into his palm as you heard a muffled hiss from his mouth.

He knelt down and grabbed your kicking legs, roughly yanking you closer and hovering above you menacingly.  “C’mon and scream for me,” he ordered with a delighted purr, pulling his mask back, laughing when what came out of you was more of a wail or sob instead.  “Louder, y’little whore—”

“Get off me!” you shrieked, trying to fight him away, whining as he laid down over you instead and licked your neck.  You turned your head with a grimace, shuddering as his weight pinned you against the slightly-damp pavement.

“G’na show Pig how tight the little hole gets when you’re scared— aren’t ya, fuckin’ slut?”

“Be serious, Darren— s’not funny, get away from me!”

You struggled less when he flashed the knife; as little as you could, in fact you actually nearly froze as he teased you with it, running the tip down the front of your dress with just enough pressure to pop a few sequins off, making you whimper in terror.  He laughed, though— a small, dark, chuckle.  “Quiet now,” he noticed.  “Don’t make a fuss, sweetheart.”

You had to bite your lip to hide a shout, though, when a gloved hand up slipped under your short dress, grabbing greedily at your lacy panties.  He licked his teeth, bared by his grin, as he stared at you with those haunting eyes of his.  “Wet, aren’tcha, girl?” he taunted— not that he’d be able to feel it through his black gloves, but past your own groaning you could almost hear it (though you tried not to).

“You’re such a creep!” you spat, though you tried to regulate your tone as you glanced at his knife again, held against you by one of his hands on your arm; maybe part of you still thought he would stop and admit it was a joke, but the darkness in his stare made you doubt that more and more.  The gravity of the situation still hadn’t really set in yet— sure, you were coursing with fear and had goosebumps all over, but it didn’t totally feel real.

“Won’t take too long,” he promised with a sigh as he hastily tugged his costume out of the way, still pinning you down with one hand (if not as effectively).  When he roughly yanked his cock out, proudly brandishing it between your legs as your eyes went wide… that’s when it felt real.

“Don’t,” you gasped instantly, looking up at him with pleading eyes.  “Don’t, Darren, please— you can’t—”

“Shh,” he hissed quickly, “s’good— gonna feel good, alright?”

He gasped loudly as he pushed inside you, eyes shutting tight before he dropped his head down onto your chest.  “Fuck, girl— what’s a whore cunt so tight for?”

Not wasting any time, he pulled his hips back and roughly thrusted forward into you again, making you choke on your cry.

“S’for me, isn’t it?” he decided with a sick sort of grin.  “Want Pig to feel good?  Like t’squeeze the thick cock, don’t ya?”

“I— I fuckin’ hate you,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tight, in disgusted disbelief that this was happening— that it was him inside you, holding you down.  But you couldn’t forget it, not with him moaning and purring above you, mumbling stuttered praises… and the feeling of it, it was impossible to ignore, as much as you hoped to somehow.  It was a deep stretch, each thrust making your chest tighten out of more than just fear.

“Mmf, fuck,” he grunted, holding onto you tighter— another reminder he still had that fucking knife.  “Pretty— it’s a pretty thing… it’s warm inside…”

Grimacing, you hated the way your body responded to his lewd comments about it; your walls clenched on him slightly, you could tell by the way you felt even more sore inside than before.

He pressed the knife up against your neck, growling in amusement at your wince of fear.  “Think Pig’s gonna slice you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered out your answer, eventually.

“Waste of a pretty face, no?” he smirked, moving the knife up and caressing the side of your face with it— not that it could really be called a caress, all rigid and cold like that… “Say please.”

“Huh?”

“Say please,” he repeated, “beg me not to hurt you.”

“Already are,” you sneered at him, but he pressed the knife to your neck with a little more intention— a little more pressure, a wild look in his eyes suddenly— as he insisted again.

“Wanna hear you beg,” he spat.  “Do it or Piggy might hurt you worse.”

“Please, please,” you whispered shakily, shutting your eyes.  “Please don’t, Darren…”

You gasped sharply as he pressed the knife down just enough to draw a thin line of blood, only to pull the blade away and lick hungrily at the wound.  Feeling dizzy and sick, you winced at the sting of his tongue lapping at your pierced skin, lips wrapping around and suckling as teeth dug painfully into your pulse.

He thrusted faster, recklessly so, and bit down on his lip as he breathed heavier.  You were too focused on how painfully deep he was going to really process anything when he started to slow down— that is, you felt that he was slowing down, and didn’t think for a minute about why he was slowing down.  

His loud, low groan gave it away; you snapped back to reality and looked up at him in a new kind of fear.  “Fuck, Darren, did you just—?!” you whimpered, squirming harder as you realised what he’d done.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed you sharply, hissing as he grabbed a tight hold of your hip.  “Stay fuckin’ still, girl— fuck, I’m still coming—”

You yelped and tried harder to fight him off, but he kept you pinned down easily, even forcing you into a rough and sloppy kiss.

He sighed into it after a second, relaxing on top of you until it was a little hard to breathe under his weight.  You whined and tried to break away, but the hand with the knife still in it held your jaw, the cold metal pressing threateningly against your face.

Whimpering and blinking up at him, you met his icy gaze and he smiled proudly down at you.  “Little devil, eh?” he smirked as he toyed with your horned headband, which had become quite dishevelled from all the running and struggling.  “Your blood matches the outfit— poor whore, red all over…”

“Darren,” you choked, fighting a sob of disbelief as you felt him pull out of you with a hiss— a steady, sticky leak giving away how much he’d come.  “What the fuck did you do?”

“Don’t be fussin’, girl, like I said,” he rolled his eyes, though he was still grinning wide.  “Ready to go back to the party now?  Or do you just want Pig to take y’home, sweetheart?” 

[cookiebelle]

Hey guys!

Sorry I haven’t really been writing much. I’ve had a lot of bad shit happen to me over the last couple of weeks.

I was illegally kicked out of my place of residence for a week and ended up living in my car for that time. I’m back at my place again, but it’s been hard.

Everything else has just been awful. Bray dying has kicked me thoroughly in the ass. Everything feels terrible right now.

That said, I’m gonna try to get back into writing in the next week. Still wanna finish those NSFW alphabets and the Rhea fic I was working on.

[cookiebelle]

Ummm if you’d feel like writing it, I would go absolutely fucking feral for some Jackson Rippner content by you!! Maybe him revealing he’s been stalking reader or something of the like?? Honestly just whatever wanna write! It would be amazing either way

oh ugh I've been waiting for the perfect opportunity to revisit this lil monster!!

warnings: con turned noncon, degradation, skanky club sex, jackson being creepy as hell

"I swear I never do this," you blurted out alongside a giggle as he pulled you into the mostly-empty coat closet, pressing you up against the wall before the door was even shut.

"Me either," he replied as he started to pull up the bottom of your dress, but you couldn't know if that was true-- it didn't really matter now, did it?

You bit your lip as he groped your ass, strong fingers pulling your panties down to your thighs; you arched your back, hardly believing this was happening but insanely turned on that it was.

"God, you need it so bad," he noticed with a little laugh, and you whimpered from being called out like that. But you sighed with relief as you heard him quickly opening his belt and pants.

You gasped when you felt him press right up to your, his thick head sliding between your folds. "F-fuck, a condom," you reminded him, and he laughed a little.

"No time," he replied before sliding in, and you would've protested if you weren't too busy moaning from the stretch. "Shit, baby, you're soaked."

"O-oh, fuck," you purred as he slid all the way to the hilt, your eyes rolling back from how deep he was. You got pretty lucky that the handsome stranger you'd been flirting and dancing with tonight had such a perfect cock. And yes, you were plenty wet-- he'd been turning you on just with the way he danced with you, little teasing touches and his body pressed to yours... obviously you had to be pretty turned on to agree to this.

He pressed his hips to yours and held onto you tight as he started to thrust. "God," he groaned, moving pretty quickly already, "fucking dripping. Such a desperate slut."

You gasped, wondering if you should be offended by that; but it just made your walls clench on him in encouragement, so you really couldn't act mad about it now. "Fuck," you blurted out instead, "I-I said I don't do this--"

"I know you don't," he smiled, moving in closer to speak beside your ear. "I know you don't, baby, you're a good girl."

You smirked a little, wanting to remind you both of how deliciously wrong this was. "You don't know me," you breathed, "you don't even know my name."

"I know your name," he replied. "I know your address, your license plate number, that shitty password you use for everything--"

You laughed awkwardly, not sure what he was getting at... until he started to list them. Everything he said, he told you in a low moan by your ear, and the longer he went on the more your smile fell into a gasp and you fought to push him away-- but he just grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the wall as he growled and fucked you harder.

"Such a good fucking girl," he said again, sounding meaner this time though. "So good and so naive... I just had to see you let loose, baby, I'm sorry-- I wasn't supposed to break cover, but I had to see how easy it would be to get you to let out the little whore I could tell was hiding underneath. I have to admit, you were a lot easier than expected."

"What the fuck-- get off me!" you yelped, trying to squirm away, but it was totally useless, and he fucked you harder against the wall as he bit down on your neck.

"My name, by the way, is Jackson," he groaned. "I want you to say it when I make you come."

[cookiebelle]

Never saw the movie, didn’t know what to expect going into the fic. Boy I’m glad I did though.

This fic is written so beautifully. The dialogue completely immersed me and I just.. wanted so badly to be Runt. It’s so hot and yet nasty and filthy and why not ME??????

I’ve been less than coherent and truly very sad over the last 24 hours but I keep coming back to this fic for some kind of twisted comfort.

12/10 will read 10 more times

𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 | darren/pig x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 | since little babbas, it's been pig and runt, runt and pig-- king and queen of your own little world. you were happy with just that, but now that you're eighteen, pig wants more... more than you're prepared to give, it seems. and he's prepared to take it if he has to.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 | 4.6k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; virginity loss, creampie/breeding, fingering, coercion and force, slapping, hair pulling), extreme creepiness/yandere vibes, innocent reader, niche irish accent/dialect so bear with me on the slang and such

(I tried to capture the spirit of the very unique dialogue style of the play/film, while still making it vaguely intelligible and hopefully keeping it from being too upsetting-- but this is definitely one of the weirdest things I've ever written. proceed with caution as always.)

You laid awake that night, thinking endlessly about how he’d kissed you.

Why’d he done that?  What’s he thinking?

You felt a little sick and a little dizzy every time you remembered it— it was just weird.  You’d never imagined kissing Pig— or Pig kissing you— even if other kids had been joking about it since you were wee.  Now that he’d gone and done it, pinning you to that wall and pressing his lips on yours (oddly sweet, for how hard his fingers dug into your arms), you wondered if it was what you should’ve expected.  You just assumed it would always be the two of you— Pig and Runt, King and Queen— but never pictured it changing.  But things change, don’t they?  Boys and girls become men and women, husbands and wives, dads and mams.  It’s just what happens.  But you never thought about it happening to you and Pig…

It played over and over in your mind: his cold eyes, his soft lips, his fast breaths against your face.  “Please, Runt?” he’d whispered, looking heartbroken and desperate like you’d never seen.  Begging you to let him kiss you, but he’d taken your first kiss and not even warned you— what were you supposed to do?

The same questions swirled in your mind when you heard the knock at your door the next day.  You knew it was him, and you knew that he knew that you knew it was him… 

“Lemme in, Runt,” he demanded from the other side, and you stood up and quickly opened the door.  He was leaning against the frame, looking down— like a little boy, ashamed and getting scolded.  He brushed past you and sat on your bed, and you shut the door.

“Pig,” you breathed, not sure what else to say.  A longer silence passed.

“Y’mad at me so,” he noticed, wringing his hands in his lap.

“No,” you denied with a sigh, sitting beside him on your bed.  “No, Pig— jus’ don’t understand… why’d you go an’ do that, then?”

“Ah,” he shrugged, looking away from you, “I-I told you already, think you’re pretty.”

But it wasn’t that, you knew it wasn’t only that.  “What you want, Pig?” you asked him quietly, and he looked at you again.  He smiled a little, his eyes looking you up and down quickly.

“Just a kiss, Runt,” he promised quietly.  “Only one.”

“Got one already,” you frowned as you crossed your arms.  “Stole it.”

He leaned in closer to you until you could feel his breath on your neck.  “Couldn’t help it,” he offered quietly, “m’sorry— just needed to kiss you.”

You turned and looked at him again, his face so close that you shivered a little.

“Should let me kiss you again,” he said, “see if y’like it this time, so.”

You hesitated, staring into his icy blue eyes.  “Think I will?” you wondered.

“Yeah, scared you before,” he said, “didn’t tell you nothin’ before I did it— that’s why you didn’t like it.  Try again, yeah?”

You bit your lip, seeing how he smiled at you— it didn’t match his eyes.  His smile was friendly and soft, but his eyes were darting back and forth between your own, anxiously searching them.  He wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he wanted you to think he was; he looked a little terrified.  It actually relieved you more than the cool-and-collected act did— you were terrified, too.  And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Please,” he whispered.  

The last thing you wanted was to hurt him, and you knew you would if you turned him down.  Nervously, you nodded, and the way he smiled at you warmed your heart.  He grabbed your face— gently, still— and pressed his lips to yours.  You tried to kiss him back this time, moving your lips slowly with his, and his thumb stroked your cheek as he tilted his head a bit more.

When he broke away a few moments later, he smiled at you with his face close to yours, and put two more pecks on your lips before finally letting go of your head.

“Love kissing you,” he mumbled, “taste so sweet, Runt…”

You smiled a little at the compliment.  “You taste like toothpaste,” you admitted with a giggle, and his cheeks got a bit pinker.

“Ah, Runt,” he cooed, “jus’ didn’t want you tastin’ my lunch— s’not what you want, is it?  To kiss me and taste Tayto crisps?”

You laughed and shook your head, while he pulled you closer and wrapped you up in his arms.  You shivered a little as he kissed the top of your head, inhaling deeply the scent of your hair.

He grabbed you by it suddenly, wrenching your head back and kissing you again— harder, and shoving his tongue into your mouth.  You moaned a little in shock and protest, but he just moaned back at you.

“Pig!” you managed to yelp out, muffled by his lips, and he hummed proudly.

“Need ya, Runt,” he groaned, letting go of your hair and starting to hold you tightly.  You whimpered as he kissed you so hungrily, unsure what to do or think.

“Jus’ a kiss, Pig,” you reminded him, but he groaned and started to hold your neck, moving his hand down to the collar of your t-shirt.  

“Jus’ a kiss,” he repeated, grabbing your shoulder painfully tight to keep you still as he started to kiss on your jaw.  “Jus’ a kiss, so— no more?”

“No, Pig,” you insisted, really thinking he would stop; but you both heard the whimpery moan that you let out when he kissed the very right spot on your neck…

“Oh,” he purred, moving his hand to tickle your chest again, “Runt like it— like the kisses?  Moan again all pretty, girl…”

You yelped and slapped his hand when it started to dip into your shirt, touching the edge of your bra.

“Eh!” he whined, backing away and shaking his hand out.  “What’cha slap Piggy hand for?”

“One kiss, you said!” you reminded him with a whine.

“Sorry, pal,” he laughed, “thought you liked it— way you moan an’ all…”

You bit your lip, because you couldn’t deny that it felt good— but the alarms in your head had gone off the second he touched under your shirt.  What did he have to do that for, if you were just kissing?

“S’okay if you’re scared,” he promised, “doesn’t mean we can’t—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, turning away a bit, needing more time to think.  You crossed your arms and turned away, and he slid closer to you on the bed.  

“Runt, I—”

“Stop talkin’, Pig,” you pleaded.  “Don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

He laughed nervously, looking away and then back at you; his hand came to rest on your arm.  “Pig never hurt Runt,” he promised.  “You’re my life.  I’d never hurt you.”

“Mine too,” you returned softly, meeting his gaze again.  It wasn’t really that you were afraid he would hurt you… it just made you feel strange.  “Don’t feel right, this,” you told him.

His smile fell, and he looked at you with the saddest eyes— you couldn’t take seeing them, so you looked down, but he reached and turned your chin so you’d look at him again.  “How’s it not feel right, us?” he wondered.  “King and Queen— s’always us, pal.”

“Eh, I know,” you breathed, “but… not like that.”

“Not like kiss?” he pressed, lowering his voice, his fingers dragging along your arm and down to yours, where he tickled your hand until you turned your palm up for him.  “Not like touch?”

A shaky sigh fell from your lips as his fingers tickled your hand.

“Not like…” he continued, whispering now, watching your face as you watched his hand, “fuck?”

He reached under your shirt suddenly and your hand instinctively raised to hit him again, but when it came down his other hand caught it harshly at the wrist.

“No slap,” he warned sharply.  “I’s only talking, Runt—”

“Talkin’ about a fuck!” you noticed with a frown.  “Pig, we can’t—!”

“Why not?  We grown,” he insisted.

“But… but we…” you mumbled, looking at him and losing your train of thought.

“Wanted you, Runt,” he admitted with a sigh as you looked at him.  “Wanted you so long…”

“You did?” you pressed nervously, and he must have confused your shyness for coyness, because he smirked and nodded before pulling you a little closer.

“Held your hand at night,” he whispered in your ear, “had the other one on m’cock, real tight…”

He smiled and licked his lips, but you pushed your legs together shyly.  He’d really been doing that while you were holding his hand?

“So pretty, Runt,” he praised softly, fingertips running up those clenched thighs, “prettiest girl there is, yeah?  Only girl worth looking at, I think— can’t be another but you, Runt, s’gotta be you.”

You looked away, unsure what to think or feel about that.  You’d never really thought about Pig being with any other girl, he’d certainly never shown interest in any— but did that mean you had to be with him?

He started to lift up the bottom of your shirt, and you jumped slightly as you tried to push his hands back down.  “Why don’t you let me see you?” he pouted.  “Used to have baths together.”

“When we was babbas,” you remembered, “s’different now.”

“Why’s it gotta be different?” he shrugged.

You never agreed to it, you just stopped fighting it— he lifted your shirt again, and you nervously let him take it off of you; a shiver passed over you from the slight chill in the room.  

“See?  Not so bad,” he said.  “Now the bra too—”

“Pig,” you whimpered, “feels weird.”

“I know,” he agreed, “but doesn’t it feel good, too?  Tingly, right between t’pretty legs?”

All these compliments only added to your confusion— because yes, it felt nice and sweet when Pig said such lovely things to you.  And he was right, too: his fingers tracing the edge of your bra did make a hot, strange feeling stir between your legs.  You didn’t want him to touch you there, really, but you also got the sense that if he did, it would help satisfy this sudden need for pressure.

“Show me how you take it off, Runt,” he insisted, and you shakily reached behind your back to unclasp the bra.

He sighed slightly when you opened it, but before you could slide the straps off, he reached up and held your shoulders.  Pushing you back (gently) onto the bed, he laid you on your back and hovered over you with the strangest, softest expression on his face; then he guided the straps down your arms, his breath catching as he exposed your chest to him.

It made your whole body break out into goosebumps when he stared at you like that, letting your bra fall on the floor.  He looked awestruck as he ran his hands up your stomach— your own breath picking up a bit as they got higher and higher— until he delicately reached your breasts, fingertips brushing against your nipples.

You almost whimpered but you bit your lip instead; his eyes were glued to them, cupping them in his hands and starting to squeeze a little more firmly.  He choked on nothing when he ran his thumbs over the tips and saw them get a little harder.  “Prettiest tits, Runt,” he groaned out his praise.  “Look so ready for Pig to lick them…”

He leaned forward and ran a wide, flat tongue over one bud as you moaned, then closed his lips around them.  You didn’t mean for your back to arch into it, or for your hand to come down and pet his hair— but you couldn’t help it.  The strangeness of all this had made them so sensitive, and every swirl of his tongue around your nipple made a pulse hit between your legs.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly as he moved from one to the other, looking up at you with bright and needy eyes.  You both were panting when he lifted himself up to look at you with a grin.  “Could suck on them for hours, Runt, if y’keep makin’ the pretty noises for me.”

He kept his mouth on one of them and held the other in his hand— but the second hand moved down your side, to your hip, to your shorts—

You clamped your legs together again, and he frowned as he pulled his mouth away from you.  “Open t’legs, Runt,” he whispered.  “Let me feel.”

You sighed a little, heart racing, and obeyed, hesitantly relaxing and spreading your legs.  His hand touched outside your shorts first, running over the fabric and cupping you through them.  “P-Pig,” you mumbled out as he pet you, his breaths heavy and uneven as he looked down and watched his hand move over you.

Shoving his hand in your shorts, he groaned as he cupped your heat in his palm, and you squirmed a little.  His fingers explored between your lips, groans escaping your throat before you could stop them.  This felt incredibly strange, being touched somewhere no one else ever had before, and you groaned a little as he seemed to be trying to feel everything until he could memorize it or something.

He swirled his fingertips around your opening, smiling proudly at the squelchy sound it made.  “You can hear it, Runt— ‘cause it wants me, see?  Little hole wants Pig in it.”

He slipped a finger in, making you bite your lip while his fell with a heavy sigh.

“Warm,” he said simply, his eyes looking a little darker as he felt inside you.

He pulled his finger out and brought it up to his face, taking a deep inhale beside the shiny digit as you bit your lip nervously.  

“Fuck, Runt, smells good,” he groaned.  “Smells fuckin’ good…”

He licked his finger next, humming at the taste.

“Wanted a taste for a while, yeah?” he admitted with a lower voice.  “D’ya ever think about it, Piggy licking your little cunt?  Thought about my tongue inside you?”

You shook your head, but he didn’t seem to believe you.

“Thought about it,” he informed you— obviously.  “Wanked and thought about it, sweet little Runt sitting on my face; making you come, kissin’ you there.  An’ thought about you tasting me, too— pretty lips on my cock, that sweet tongue…”

Gasping, you looked away; you shuddered as he started to kiss your neck, and you reached up to push him away but ended up just holding onto his shoulders when his tongue tickled your pulse.

You whined loudly when he reached into your shorts again and slipped two fingers into you— the stretch stung and made your hips jerk.

“Too much, Pig!” you told him, trying to push his hand away.

“Too much?” he repeated with a laugh.  “How’s the cock gonna fit if the finger’s too big?”

The hand trying to stop him ended up just holding his wrist as he curled his fingers inside you, making your legs shake completely on their own.  

You were a bit relieved and disappointed at once as he took his fingers out of your shorts, but then you sat up and tried to jump away when he hooked both hands into the shorts to try to pull them down.  “What’s wrong, then?” he asked.

“D-don’t want you to see,” you mumbled.

“Already touched, Runt, lemme see now,” he insisted, but you moved your hips away again with a pout.  “Okay,” he relented, and for a second you thought that meant he’d stop making you do all these things, but then his hand moved to start opening his jeans, “I’ll show you first— to make it fair, so.”

You instantly shut your eyes tight when you caught a glimpse of it, the big white thing he pulled out in front of you; but then you found yourself looking, like you couldn’t help it, out of morbid curiosity.  And then you just felt even more terrified, because of how thick it was, how it flexed in his hand as he held it tightly, how there was a little drop of clear liquid leaking from the tip…

“I—” you stammered, not even sure yourself what you were going to say, but he interrupted you.

“Touch it, Runt,” he whispered, somewhere between a plea and a demand.  “Touch how hard…”

You shuddered as you brushed your fingers over him and the silky smooth skin of his cock, feeling empty and hollow— you couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were touching Pig there… 

“Do you think it’s gonna fit, Runt?” he taunted softly.  “Do you think little cunt’s gonna hurt with the big cock in it?”

“Pig, maybe not today…” you suggested weakly, overwhelmed by what you’d already done without even imagining what was next.  “Maybe wait—”

“Wait, eh?” he frowned.  “Mean girl, makin’ Pig wait so long an’ then some more— gettin’ the boy hard like that and wantin’ to stop now—”

“M’not ready,” you tried to explain, but he kept going, snarling at you as his anger grew.

“Little tease!” he accused.  “Lettin’ me kiss you an’ all that— touch you an’ suck the little buds, all lyin’ to me that I could have you— you’re lyin’!  Thought we’s pals, Runt.”

“Pals, yeah!” you agreed.  “Forever!  But—”

“Then let me feel,” he demanded.  “Let me be inside… s’jokin’ earlier, it won’t hurt you.  Pig never hurt Runt.”

You whined and looked away, and Pig put his face right by yours, breathing warmly onto your neck.

“Never,” he swore again.  “I can make you feel good.  Promise.  It feels good, Runt… s’good to have the cock inside, for both.  If you don’t like, we stop.”

“Okay,” you blurted out.  “Okay, Pig… we can try.”

He smiled and sat back between your legs, pulling your shorts and panties down and biting his lip as he touched again with a full view this time.  “S’pretty, Runt,” he praised quietly, spreading you with his fingers as he examined you.

You tried not to resist, hoping to force yourself to relax, but you couldn’t help but jump when you felt his cock press against your wet lower lips.  “Don’t squirm, Runt, s’gonna feel good,” he promised, laying down on top of you and hovering above you.

“Scared, Pig,” you admitted with a little whine, and he smiled at you as he kissed your cheek.

“Won’t be so bad, yeah,” he assured quietly.  “S’posed to happen.  Boys and girls do this— it’s what we do, okay?  S’posed to be like this— me and you, man and woman.  And it’s so wet, Runt— you want me.”

Before you could decide if you agreed with that, he looked down and lined himself up to your opening.  He sighed heavily as he plunged the swollen head into you, a totally new expression falling over his face as he looked down at you.  “Ah, Runt, s’fuckin warm,” he groaned, pushing in another inch; you whined and tried to move your hips away, but he held them down as his mouth fell wide open with gasps.  He watched himself do it, too— he watched the way his cock split you, even using his thumb to tug up on your clit to get a better view.

He moaned loudest when he was all the way inside, his hips flush with yours, your aching body suddenly covered in goosebumps.

“Feel it?” he grunted.  “Feel how it fits just right?  See?  S’meant to be me an’ you, Runt.”

Just right isn’t quite how you would’ve described it, not with this stinging pain inside like he was tearing you open.  You could’ve maybe gotten used to it easier if he’d just stayed still, but he started thrusting right in as soon as he’d slipped inside— you tried to reach down to grab his hip, a chance to slow him down, but he grabbed you at the wrist and pinned your hands down.  “P-Pig,” you choked out, “you’re hurting me—”

“Shh,” he breathed, “s’not gonna hurt if you give it a minute.  Fuck, Runt, y’feel that?  It’s so good, Runt… such a good, wet hole…”

You started to sob then, but he ignored it.  “Said you’d never hurt me,” you reminded him— but he only heard what he wanted.

“So big, I know,” he said proudly, pulling back enough to look down at the sight of himself inside you.  “Look’it that,” he groaned, “all that sticky juice, soakin’ my cock, you’re such a good girl for me now, yeah?  Runt be good for Pig…”

Another whine jumped from your throat as he moved faster, the sound of skin hitting skin beginning to fill your room.  

“Ah, fuck, Runt,” he moaned louder, “s’fuckin’ tight… saved it for me, wanted me to be the one to break it in, yeah?  Needed my cock to open y’up, I know it— ah, needed Pig’s cock, didn’t ya?  Wanted to beg for it all sweet-like?  Pig, need your cock— fuck me, Pig— say it like that.”

“No,” you whimpered, whining as he squeezed your wrists harder.

“Say how I told you,” he demanded.

You shivered a little, trying to find the courage to say something like that; it came out as a shaky, tense whisper.  “F-fuck me,” you begged under your breath, and he growled before kissing your neck messily.  His thrusts got a bit faster and rougher— and deeper, which you hadn’t even realized was really an option since it never seemed like he was holding back before.

“Dirty little Runt, needs a mean fuck,” he grinned.  “Wants it hard.  But m’gonna be nice with you— make it all sweet for the pretty Runt.”

One hand moved to hold tightly onto your hip— too tight, really, enough to bruise— and he changed the way he moved inside you: a bit faster yet again and somehow more tender, more intentional.  You moaned before you could stop yourself, the crying suddenly stopping, as a different angle making his cock’s fat tip rub against some little spot inside you… it still felt horribly strange, having Pig on top of you and inside of you, but there was a sense of satisfaction building with it as well.

“Nobody else ever gonna touch you, Runt,” he informed you with a heavy sigh.  “Nobody gonna touch the Runt but Pig— nobody else get to see the pretty tits, nobody else get to feel inside.  It’s all just for me.”

He purred when he noticed the way your face relaxed and your body went a bit limp; you felt warm all over, especially where he filled you, and the pain was gone— at least, the physical pain.  Your head still hurt with confusion and shame.

“See?” he smiled wide— impossibly wide— as you shuddered under him.  “So good, Runt— y’like it, hm?  Pig’s cock in you, you like it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you panted, whimpering as he fucked you a little more desperately now, not quite as patient as before.  “Yeah— feels good…”

“How it’s supposed to be,” he insisted again, losing his smile to a series of heavy breaths and moans.  “How it’s gotta be, Runt— gotta be me and you, King and Queen, an’ m’gonna be inside you when I want.”

You shuddered, already overwhelmed by this, let alone a standing order to be fucked whenever he wanted it.

“Such a pretty hole,” he groaned, holding onto your shoulders to keep you steady as he rocked his hips faster.  “Can’t wait to fill it up…”

Your eyes went wide when you realized what he meant by that.  “N-no, Pig!” you choked out.  “Can’t get the spunk inside—”

“Shut it,” he snapped, covering your mouth with his hand, “s’gotta be inside, Runt, needa fill your hole.  Needa see it drip out, yeah?  Gonna watch all my come run out the little cunt…”

Your muffled whimpers just spurred him on more, his teeth bared as he growled by your ear.

“Give Runt the seed, yeah?” he grunted, fucking you harder.  “Fill the needy fuckin’ hole— s’wet ‘cause it needs it.  You need me.”

He took his hand off your mouth again to indulge himself in your terrified whining, pinning your flailing arms down instead and moaning as he licked and sucked on your neck.

“Wanna be pregnant, Runt?  Wanna babe?”

“No, Pig!” you cried in response.  “C’mon, Pig, please— jus’ pull out!”

“Mm,” he considered it, “but our little babe would be so cute, Runt— your eyes an’ my nose, haven’t you thought about it?  Me an’ you, mum and dad?  Sort of funny, don’t you think?”

He laughed— how could he laugh at a time like this?!

“Tell me you wan’ it inside, Runt,” he demanded.  “Say it!  Say you wan’ all Pig’s spunk inside!”

“I—” you began, hesitating, and he slapped your face as you yelped.

“Say it!”

“F-fuck, wan’ it inside, Pig!” you begged as you cried.  “Come in me, Pig, just come, please— just come and be done, please—”

“Shh, shh,” he hissed, shutting his eyes tight as his hips moved faster.  “Ah, fuck, can’t wait anymore… m’coming, Runt—”

He gasped loudly and held your hips too tightly as he pushed himself as deep as he could go.  Your eyes and mouth open, you simply looked up at the ceiling, paralyzed and speechless as he groaned and spasmed a bit. 

“We one now,” he whispered to you, kissing the side of your face.  “Man and woman.”

You could only blink numbly as he sat up enough to look down at you, his face hovering too close above yours.

“I think Runt like it,” he grinned, cooing as a tear ran down your temple— he swiped it up with his thumb and licked it up.  “Why cry?”

You sniffled and finally managed to wrench your wrist out from his grip, but you couldn’t do anything with it, so you just brought it nervously to cover your chest.  “Y’hurt me, Piggy…”

“Aw,” he pouted at you, laying a little more of his weight on you, “jus’ ‘cause it’s the first, Runt.  Next time be sweeter, yeah?  Easier.  Little pussy opened up an’ ready now.”

He gently pulled his hips back, sighing as he slipped his cock out of you, and you winced.  He scooted himself down and put his face right close between your legs, making you try to close your thighs together— but he just held them open and used his thumb to pull your lips apart more.

“Ah, shit,” he frowned, “s’too deep, hasn’t run out yet.  Can y’push it out, Runt?  So I can see?”

“S-stop lookin’ at it, Pig,” you whimpered a little, feeling self-conscious about his face so close to you there…

“But s’pretty,” he giggled quietly.  “C’mon, Runt, just push so Pig can see all the spunk come out.”

Though your face had never felt so warm and you cringed at the request, you pushed just once and felt a warm trickle run down from your hole to the seam of your ass.

“Oh,” he breathed.  “Prettiest thing, that is.  Runt full’a Pig, all the seed pourin’ out…”

He dragged two fingers up through the sticky path down from your pussy, pushing the come back into you as you whimpered from both the soreness and the fear of what might happen now that he’d done that to you.

While your body shivered helplessly and your mind raced with thoughts, all you could do was lay there and blink at the ceiling as he laid down beside you.  He hummed as he pulled you into a tight hug.  “Love ya, Runt,” he whispered, smiling still.  “You’re my life.  It’s us now, yeah?  King and Queen…”

He laughed, in a giddy sort of way, and held you even closer as he buried his face in your neck.

“King and Queen,” he repeated, “forever and ever and ever, yeah…?”

[cookiebelle]

I’ve been crying for sixteen straight hours about Bray Wyatt. He was the reason I became a wrestling fan again as an adult, back in 2012/2013. I latched onto everything he did. He was truly in my top five favorite wrestlers of all time. He was so young. He had so much potential. This is so fucking devastating.